Now I'm Addicted
by arysa13
Summary: Clarke loves her boyfriend, honestly. She just can't seem to stop cheating on him with Bellamy Blake.
1. Chapter 1

**Prompt: Clarke is in a serious relationship with someone (up to you with who, but I'd rather not it be a female as the 'bi girl cheating on her wife/gf with a man' stereotype is a bit of a squick for me as a bi woman), but can't seem to stop fucking Octavia's older brother.**

* * *

"Bellamy is looking _fine_ tonight," Raven sings, swigging out of her beer bottle. Clarke glances at the man in question, listening intently to Jasper's drunken ramblings. And yeah, Raven is right. Bellamy is looking fine. More than fine. He looks like he's been ripped straight from someone's wet dream, with his stupid messy curls and his dumb lips and his fucking _arms_. Raven's dream, obviously. Clarke has no such thoughts about him. He's just Octavia's annoying older brother, and plus, she has a boyfriend who is just as hot.

"I guess," Clarke shrugs, turning back to Raven. "He doesn't really do it for me."

"I think I'm going to try and hook up with him tonight," Raven smirks, and Clarke feels a surge of inexplicable annoyance.

"You do that," she says with a roll of her eyes. They're interrupted then by the birthday girl standing on the couch and shouting over everyone.

"Everyone listen!" Octavia yells. "It's time for spin the bottle," she says, lowering her voice slightly now that everyone's listening.

"Spin the bottle? Really, O?" Bellamy says. "Don't you think twenty five is a little old for games like that?"

"It's my birthday, and I say we're playing spin the bottle. I never got to play as a teenager," she reminds him, and he immediately looks guilty, though Clarke knows it's not his fault Octavia never made any friends in high school.

"Spin the bottle sounds fun," Monty says, trying to smooth over the awkwardness, and everyone enthusiastically agrees. Clarke sidles up to Wells as the others make a circle on the floor.

"Do we really want to play?" she whispers dubiously. They are, at the moment, the only two people there who aren't single. Wells shrugs, eyeing the people in the circle.

"Oh, stop being spoil sports," Octavia scolds them, noticing their reluctance. "It's just a game!" Clarke and Wells glance at each other and Wells shrugs again.

"It is just a game," Clarke says.

"I promise I won't get jealous if you won't," he grins.

"Deal," Clarke laughs, and they squeeze themselves into the circle.

The game is fine, mostly. Clarke and Wells both kiss a few different people, some with tongue, some without, and Clarke doesn't get mad that Octavia tries to full on make out with her boyfriend. It's just a game. And then Bellamy spins the bottle. And it lands on Clarke, and suddenly it doesn't feel like just a game to her anymore.

He raises his eyebrows at her from across the circle and she can feel her heart rate pick up, which most certainly did _not_ happen when she kissed Raven or Jasper.

She doesn't want to kiss him. Mostly because she kind of _does_ want to kiss him, and she doesn't know what that says about her. But if she doesn't kiss him, everyone will make a big deal about it and it will probably end up being worse than just kissing him.

So she rolls her eyes like _let's get this over with_ and leans in to the middle of the circle.

She doesn't even close her eyes at first, but then Bellamy does and she feels weird staring at him so she closes hers too. He brushes her lips gently against hers, making her shiver, and for a moment she wonders if that's it, that's all he's going to give her. But then he traces his tongue along the seam of her lips and she can't help but open up for him, meeting his tongue with her own.

Clarke feels a tug low in her stomach, and she has to fight the urge to pull him closer. What's he doing, kissing her like that? Like he wants her to forget she's ever been kissed by anybody else. Like he's planning on doing so much more than just kissing her. He bites at her bottom lip gently and she feels her cunt throb. Fuck, she wants him.

Somebody whistles then, and Clarke remembers herself, pulling away hastily, her face burning. She glances at Wells. Technically she hasn't done anything wrong, but she can't help but feel guilty. Does he know how much she liked kissing Bellamy? How much she wants to do it again?

Wells grins at her without a hint of annoyance or jealously. He leans into her to whisper into her ear while Raven spins the bottle.

"I don't think he knows what hit him," he chuckles and Clarke looks back across the circle at Bellamy. He does look a little dazed and he narrows his eyes at her in confusion when she sees him looking. She doesn't know what he has to be confused about. She's the one suddenly lusting after him when her boyfriend is sitting right next to her.

Raven's spin lands on Bellamy and she couldn't look more delighted.

"Okay, Blake, give me those lips," she grins.

"I actually have to go," he says, standing up unceremoniously.

"What? Why?" Octavia pouts.

"Early start tomorrow," he says. "Have a good night everyone." He gives a small wave before heading out of Octavia's apartment.

"What's up with him?" Jasper wonders. "Is kissing Raven that bad?"

"He's just worried he'll fall in love with me," Raven shrugs.

"He left his phone the fucking dumbass," Octavia says, picking it up from where Bellamy had been sitting. "Who wants to take it to him?"

"That involves getting up," Jasper complains.

"I'll do it," Clarke sighs. She kind of wants to ask him what the fuck that was all about anyway. She grabs the phone from Octavia and takes off after Bellamy, only to find him coming towards her down the hall. She keeps walking, meeting him halfway.

"Forgot my phone," he mutters once he's standing a foot away from her, and Clarke holds it up. He reaches to take it from her but she pulls her hand away. Bellamy cocks his head, waiting for an explanation.

"What was that in there?" she asks him.

"What was what?"

"The kiss."

"I could ask you the same thing," he snorts, stepping forward to reach for his phone again. He's a lot closer now, they're almost chest to chest and Clarke can feel heat radiating off him.

"Did you want to kiss me?" Clarke asks, and Bellamy looks at her in exasperation.

"Yes."

"Before tonight?" she presses. Bellamy huffs.

"Yes, okay? And if you didn't have that boring ass boyfriend I'd do a lot more than kiss you," he says, almost like a threat. He folds his arms, his forearms brushing against her breasts as he does so. Clarke feels that tug again, and a surge of wetness between her legs.

"Is that right?" she murmurs, swaying forward slightly so her breasts can brush against his arms again. Bellamy doesn't miss the action, and it only takes him a split second to press her against the wall and bring his mouth down on hers.

Clarke knows there's a small amount of time in this situation where she can push him away, claim it was all him, that she hasn't done anything wrong. But then she's missed the window, her mouth responding to his, her arms curling around his neck while his phone clatters to the floor.

Clarke is aware, of course, that they're in a hallway not ten metres from the apartment where their friends and her boyfriend are, and could easily step out and catch them in the act. But somehow it seems unimportant when Bellamy's tongue is in her mouth, and his fingers are dancing across her stomach, lower and lower.

"You want me to touch you, Clarke?" Bellamy growls, his fingers now toying with the button on her jeans.

"Yes," Clarke hums without hesitation, and Bellamy undoes her jeans, slipping his hand into her panties. Clarke whines when his fingers make contact with her clit, pulsing with want.

"You're all wet," Bellamy murmurs. "You get this way just from me kissing you?"

"Yeah," Clarke says. "And from thinking about you touching me."

"You're a bad girl, Clarke Griffin," Bellamy smirks. Which, yeah, she knows. Good girls definitely don't let men other than their boyfriends finger them in fully lit hallways. She kind of likes being a bad girl though.

Bellamy slides his fingers along her slit, letting her sticky juices coat them. She writhes against his fingers, desperate to have them inside her.

"I'm gonna make you come so hard, Clarke," Bellamy whispers, before pushing a finger inside her, quickly followed by another.

"Please," she moans. Bellamy kisses her again as he thrusts his fingers, stroking the inside of her pussy. Clarke clutches him as he fingers her, her eyes closed as her climax builds.

"Come on, Princess, come for me," Bellamy says huskily, rubbing his thumb against her clit, and Clarke clenches around his fingers, crying out as she comes, burying her head into his shoulder.

"Fuck," she groans, panting. Bellamy removes his fingers from her cunt and wipes them on the front of her panties.

"Good luck explaining that to your boyfriend," he smirks and Clarke suddenly feels the weight of what she's done crash down on her. She swallows heavily before pushing Bellamy away, guilt pooling in her stomach.

"Shit," she swears, squeezing her eyes shut.

"I'll catch you around, Princess," Bellamy says as he picks his phone up off the floor and leaves. It goes without saying that this was a one time thing.

Clarke does her best to compose herself, making sure her hair is in place and her jeans are done up. No one has to know about this. So she let Bellamy Blake finger her and make her come. It didn't mean anything. No use hurting Wells over some stupid mistake.

She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders, determined that this lapse in judgement will not ruin her relationship. The ghost of Bellamy's lips on hers isn't going to haunt her. She's not going to think about his fingers while she's in bed with Wells. She nods to herself firmly before heading back to Octavia's apartment. But she can't resist one quick look back over her shoulder at Bellamy walking away.

* * *

It does haunt her, of course. She feels like it's branded into her forehead for everyone to see; _I cheated on my boyfriend_. And yet, no one notices. No one notices the guilt eating away at her, the way she kind of tenses up if anyone mentions Bellamy's name.

But the guilt isn't the worst part. Nor is the fear that Wells will find out, or that someone else will find out and tell him. It's not even how she catches herself thinking about Bellamy's fingers inside her while Wells is touching her.

No, the worst part is how much she wants to do it again. Whenever she thinks about him she gets a sick thrill knowing what he did to her, and a yearning as her cunt throbs, desperate to have him inside her again, his fingers, or better yet, his cock.

So she avoids him. Which isn't as hard as one would think, seeing as she only usually sees him when the whole group hangs out together anyway, which isn't that often. If she can just avoid him for the next few months she'll get over this weird lust and things can go back to normal.

It's a couple of weeks after Octavia's birthday and Octavia is supposed to be accompanying Clarke to a Lana Del Rey concert. Only now she's apparently too sick to come.

"You know I wouldn't back out unless I really had to," Octavia tells Clarke over the phone. "I've been throwing up all afternoon and I feel like shit."

"I know," Clarke sighs. "I'll try and convince Wells to come with me."

"I'm not going to a Lana Del Rey concert!" Wells calls from the kitchen. "I can't stand her whiny voice," he says, walking into the living room.

"Babe," Clarke complains, giving him her best puppy dog eyes.

"He's saying no, isn't he?" Octavia says.

"Right now he is," Clarke says.

"There is nothing on earth that would convince me to go and listen to that woman sing live," Wells screws up his nose. "Isn't there someone else who can go?"

"Monty has a date and Raven's out of town. And I'm not taking Jasper," Clarke says.

"What about Bell?" Octavia suggests.

"What about him?" Clarke says, her stomach lurching at the mention of his name.

"He actually loves Lana Del Rey. And he lives way closer to the venue so you could stay at his place instead of trying to get the train back home after," Octavia says.

"I don't know…" Clarke hedges. She knows with absolute certainty this is a terrible idea.

"It's a concert, you don't even really have to talk to him," Octavia points out, as if that's the problem.

"Yeah, but…" Clarke trails off. But what? She can't think of a good reason not to go with him other than the fact that she wants to fuck him, and if she's left alone with him she doesn't know if she can control herself.

"What?" Wells asks.

"She thinks I should go with Bellamy," Clarke says. "And then stay at his place after." She hopes Wells will say no. Tell her he'd rather listen to Lana Del Rey than have her off with Bellamy. Tell her she's not allowed to go to the concert at all. But of course, Wells is a reasonable and trusting boyfriend and he just kind of looks amused.

"You should go with him," he says. "Maybe you'll find something about him you actually like."

"Uh huh," Clarke swallows.

"So that's a yes?" Octavia asks.

"I guess so," Clarke says.

"Great! I'll tell him you'll meet him at his place," Octavia says before hanging up the phone. Clarke puts her own phone down, her stomach churning with both anxiety and excitement.

Clarke tries to tell herself that it doesn't matter that she's attracted to Bellamy. She's a grown adult who is responsible for her own actions and she's perfectly capable of not acting on impulse. Except for the part where she kind of already did. But that's in the past, and she's not going to let it happen again.

She tells herself the buzzing underneath her skin as she heads to Bellamy's place is just excitement about the concert.

She texts him when she's outside and he comes down to meet her, and she doesn't know how it's possible but he looks even hotter than the last time she saw him. Which, she unfortunately remembers, was in a deserted hallway with his hand down her pants. Her gaze flicks down his body unbidden and when she manages to make eye contact with him again, he's studying her with amusement. She opens her mouth to speak, but somehow she can't think of a single thing to say. She shuts her mouth abruptly and waits for him to say something instead.

"Have you got the tickets?" he asks her.

"Yes," Clarke answers, thankful she's apparently sentient enough to be able to answer.

"Well, let's go," he says and Clarke nods before leading the way.

It's only a short train ride to the arena, ten minutes from Bellamy's instead of the forty it would have been from her own place, but it's still far too long. She spends the entire time trying not to brush arms with him or bump knees while at the same time trying to appear completely normal.

Bellamy doesn't bring up their tryst in the hallway, and in fact seems completely unaffected by her presence, although sometimes she swears he brushes up against her _on purpose_. But all he talks about is some mundane documentary he watched last night and Clarke can draw no other conclusion than he's not thinking about what she's thinking about. It's not like she expected it to _mean_ anything to him, after all she regards it as one big mistake herself. But it would be nice if he actually remembered that it happened.

They make it to the arena and find their seats, and Clarke tries to ignore the warmth of his guiding hand on her back, made worse by the fact that she's wearing a crop top and his fingers rest directly on her bare skin.

"Here," Bellamy says when they reach their seats, dropping his hand. The loss of contact is simultaneously a relief and a disappointment. _You have a boyfriend, Clarke,_ she reminds herself. _You shouldn't want him to touch you._

"Octavia said we have to get a selfie," Bellamy says. "You don't mind right?"

Clarke shakes her head. If she'd been with Octavia they probably would have taken fifty already. Bellamy leans in close and holds his phone up, and fuck, he smells good. He's also totally oblivious to the way he's torturing her.

He takes the picture and sends it to Octavia, and a few seconds later he gets a response.

"She's satisfied," he grins. "She also says to tell you your tits look great in that top." He glances down. "She's right." Clarke's mouth drops open, and she's not sure if it's a blessing or a curse that at that moment the lights go down and the crowd starts screaming, preventing her from coming up with a response.

The people around them stand up and Bellamy does the same, grabbing Clarke's arm and pulling her up with him. It's only the support act and Clarke's never even heard of them, but she pretends to be excited if only so she doesn't have to think about Bellamy's comment and consequently the things she'd like him to do to said tits. She glances at him but he seems to be intent on the support act playing, again completely unaware of his affect on her.

He goes to get them drinks when the support act is done, and the girl sitting next to Clarke taps her on the shoulder.

"Is the guy you're with your boyfriend or is he gay?" the girl asks.

"Um," Clarke frowns. "Why does he have to be either?"

"Come on, he's way too hot to be a single straight guy at a Lana Del Rey concert," the girl snorts. Clarke resists the urge to point out there are more sexualities than straight and gay. "Unless you're saying he is. In which case, do you want to swap seats with him?" Clarke squashes the unwarranted feeling of irritation at the girl and smiles politely.

"He's gay," she says, and the girl shrugs in disappointment before turning back to her friends.

Bellamy returns with the drinks and Clarke swallows as he sits back down next to her. She's totally on edge, unable to relax, his presence a constant reminder of what they did. Of what he can do to her. Of what she _wants_ him to do to her.

She thinks once Lana starts she'll forget, get lost in the music and just enjoy herself. But somehow Lana's sultry voice only makes Clarke more aware of how close she is to Bellamy. And he keeps _touching_ her. Brushing his arm or his hand against hers. Putting his hand on her back where her skin is exposed. Leaning in close so his lips brush her ear when he wants to tell her something.

She squeezes her legs together tightly, feeling the wetness that's pooled there, and there's a pounding between her legs that has nothing to do with the beat of the music. She's so fucking horny and he's doing just enough to keep her there, but she needs so much more. She zones out, thinking about him grabbing her, pulling down her panties and fucking her right here while the people around them watch.

"You okay?" he asks her, his lips against her ear again, startling her from her daydream. She turns to him, her face hot, though he can't possibly know what she's thinking. She nods tightly but he doesn't look convinced. In fact he looks almost… amused.

"What?" she snaps, and he probably doesn't hear her but it's pretty obvious what she said. He leans in again.

"Had enough teasing?" he asks her, his voice deep and dripping with seduction, and _holy fuck_ , _he's being doing this on purpose_. She gapes at him, feeling like an idiot, because how the hell did she not know? Of _course_ he's doing it on purpose. He smirks at her, and god damn it if his smirk isn't the sexiest thing she's ever seen.

" _I have a boyfriend, Bellamy_ ," she hisses at him, as if she hadn't been fantasizing about him fucking her in public only a minute ago.

"He doesn't have to know," Bellamy says, his lips against her ear again, and fuck, he sounds like he wants it almost as much as she does. Clarke groans, wanting to say no, knowing she should, but at the same time she's desperate to press herself up against him, to grind her pussy against his thigh, anything for a little friction.

Bellamy's hand snakes around her waist, his fingers gently stroking her stomach. Clarke can hardly think straight, she's barely aware of Lana singing Cola, and her head feels all fuzzy. Her whole body is tingling from his slight touch, her panties are drenched and her pussy is aching to be touched.

She finds herself drifting towards him, and before she even knows what's happening she's standing in front of him, guiding his hand down the front of her skirt and into her panties. His big hand covers her pussy while his middle finger dips into her slit, teasing her, pressing against her clit then sliding along between her pussy lips. Clarke rolls her head back against his chest, grinding her ass against his crotch, delighted to find him hard and wanting.

She's vaguely aware that anyone could look over and see him fingering her. It's not hard to figure out what they're doing, with one of his hands down the front of her skirt and the other now sliding under her top to fondle her tits. She's too far gone to care now though, all she knows is she desperately needs to come.

"Bellamy," she moans. "Rub my clit," she begs him. "I need to come."

"Yeah?" he pants.

" _Please,_ " she whines, rubbing her ass against his crotch harder.

"Fuck, Clarke," he groans, bringing his middle finger to her clit, caressing her gently.

"Harder," she demands. Bellamy obeys, rubbing her clit frantically, and she can feel her orgasm building as Lana reaches the bridge of the song, and it's lucky the music is so loud because she's pretty sure she's making obscene noises. She cries out when she hits her climax, and she probably hits the same notes that Lana does, her pussy clenching and she finds herself wishing she had Bellamy's cock inside her.

"That girl was watching us," Bellamy murmurs in her ear as she comes down from her high, and Clarke glances over to see the girl she'd spoken to earlier staring at them in shock. Clarke can't even bring herself to be embarrassed, and Bellamy looks the girl right in the eye as he extracts his hand from Clarke's panties and puts his finger into his mouth, sucking her juices off. The girl looks away hurriedly, and Clarke wonders if watching them turned her on.

"Tastes better than Pepsi Cola," Bellamy chuckles into Clarke's ear.

He doesn't touch her for the rest of the concert, but she's hyper aware of his presence, and despite her recent orgasm she still isn't satisfied.

Somewhere deep down she supposes she feels guilty. Or at least, she expects she will later. Right now though, she's on top of the world. She can feel electricity racing through her veins and her heart pounds at the thought of what might happen _after_ the concert. The two of them alone in his apartment for the whole night. No one to interrupt them. No one wondering where she is.

The train ride home after the concert feels like an eternity. Bellamy doesn't say much on the way home, and she can barely look him in the eye without blushing, thinking about his fingers inside her, making her come while that girl watched them.

But then they're in his apartment and they're utterly alone and Clarke can't seem to calm her racing heart or the butterflies in her stomach. _Chill, Clarke_ , she tells herself. _He's probably not even thinking about fucking you. You're the one who apparently can't keep it in her pants._

"So," Bellamy says, flicking on the light. "You have two options for sleeping arrangements." Clarke nods. _See, he just wants to go to sleep._ "There's the couch," he gestures to said couch, which looks a little lumpy and on the short side.

"What's the other option?" Clarke asks him nervously. _He's not going to suggest his bed,_ she scolds herself.

"You can sleep in my bed with me," he says. He pauses and Clarke feels that familiar thrum between her legs again. "But you'll be sleeping naked, and you'll stay naked until the minute you leave this apartment." His tone is deep and commanding and it sends a thrill right through her.

Clarke bites her lip. This is the point of no return. This is the part where her better judgement is supposed to kick in, to remind her she has a loving boyfriend and that she's already gone far enough with Bellamy.

But it's just one night. She just needs to get it out of her system. He's already fingered her twice, what difference does it make if he fucks her now? Wells never needs to know.

"Okay," she says, and Bellamy cocks an eyebrow, unsure of which option she's chosen. Clarke enlightens him by pulling her top over her head and discarding it on the floor, shortly followed by her skirt and shoes. Bellamy's eyes never leave her, his gaze dark and lustful. Clarke reaches behind her back slowly and unclips her bra, letting it fall to the floor with her skirt and top. Bellamy swallows heavily, and Clarke brings her hands to her hips, hooking her fingers in the waistband of her panties. She revels in his heated stare, can feel him willing her to take them off, to show him what she's hiding underneath.

She lets him suffer, just a little. After all, he made her suffer. She inches her panties down to her thighs and then lets them drop to her ankles before stepping out of them daintily.

"Where's your bed?" she asks him, her voice smooth and low.

"Holy fuck," Bellamy breathes, and it's almost like he hadn't actually been expecting this to happen. Clarke smirks at him. She almost feels like she has the upper hand for once. But then he stares at her a little too long, his gaze raking over her and she becomes acutely aware that she's standing naked in his living room while he's fully dressed. She licks her lips nervously and Bellamy straightens, his eyes meeting hers.

"Come on," he says, the gruffness of his voice making her clit twinge. She follows him to his room, and the second she shuts the door behind her he presses her up against it, crushing her breasts to his chest as he kisses her.

"Bellamy," she murmurs against his mouth. His tongue slips into her mouth and she forgets whatever else she'd been going to say. He hands twist into his shirt as she tries to pull it off him, needing to feel his skin against hers, and her allows his lips to leave hers just long enough for her to pull it over his head.

Clarke drags her nipples over his bare chest as he kisses her and he groans into her mouth.

"Fuck, Clarke," he huffs, groaning again as she grinds her pussy against his crotch.

"How long have you been hard?" she asks him, her hand sneaking down between them to undo his belt.

"Since you let me finger you at a fucking Lana Del Rey concert," Bellamy growls. And fuck, it's so hot that he's been hard for her for so long.

Clarke manages to get his pants undone and he helps her pull them off, leaving him in his underwear. Clarke's mouth goes dry at the sight of his bulge, her pulse quickens as her eyes trail down his abs, following the line of hair that disappears into his underwear. She's almost holding her breath as she tugs his boxers down, desperate to finally see his cock. She's not disappointed.

It's not like Wells is small, but Bellamy's cock is something else. It's long and thick and glorious and her mouth is practically watering at the sight of it. She sinks to her knees, hardly in control of her own body anymore, and kisses the bulging tip gently.

She doesn't often suck Wells' cock, doesn't particularly like doing it. But at this moment there's nothing she wants more than to have Bellamy's huge cock filling her mouth.

She looks up at him, can see the heat in his eyes as he watches her drag her tongue over the tip of his cock, then along the shaft down to the base to lap at his balls.

"Clarke," he groans, his eyes fluttering shut as she runs her tongue back along his shaft then lets her mouth close over the end of his cock, swirling her tongue around, tasting the salty pre cum. "Fuck, Clarke," he pants. "You're gonna make me come."

"Good," Clarke says before taking him deeper into her mouth, filling her mouth with his cock until he hits the back of her throat, and fuck, there's still so much of him left. She moans around his cock before pulling back slightly, and Bellamy thrusts against her mouth, whether on purpose or by accident she doesn't know. She looks up at him again, fluttering her eyelashes.

"Fuck my mouth," she tells him as best she can with a mouthful of cock. Bellamy groans and jerks into her mouth again, a hand gripping in her hair tightly. He thrusts his hips, fucking into her mouth over and over as he holds her in place by her hair. Clarke sneaks a hand between her own legs, unable to control herself any longer, the throbbing in her cunt too much to bear. She's soaking wet and her thighs are coated with her own juices. She finds her clit and rubs frantically, giving herself the friction she craves and Bellamy grunts and continues to fuck her mouth.

"Fuck Clarke," he groans. "Are you playing with yourself?"

"Mmhmm," she hums, and then she feels Bellamy shudder, his hand gripping her hair harder, and then he's shooting his load down the back of her throat, moaning desperately.

"Fuck," he says, letting her hair go and pulling himself from her mouth. "Fuck. Let me do that," he rumbles, pulling Clarke to her feet and pressing her up against the door again as he drops to his own knees. He pushes her thighs apart and ducks his head to her cunt, licking into her, his tongue gliding along her slit. She's already close from her own ministrations to her clit, and his tongue feels so good inside her, rough and wet as he sucks on her clit, and then she's coming onto his tongue and he laps up her juices greedily.

He gives her no time to recover, getting up from his knees, and spinning her around so her tits are squashed against the door. He presses his dick against her ass and she rolls back against him, and somehow he's already hard again.

"Bellamy," she whines. "I want your cock. Please give me your cock."

"Since you asked so nicely," he says, his lips next to her ear. Clarke spreads her legs wide for him and he slides his cock against her folds, her pussy leaking juices onto him. His cock hits her clit and she moans, writhing against him. Her pussy clenches, desperate for something inside it.

"Bellamy, fuck me, _please,_ " Clarke begs. She whimpers as she feels him position himself at her entrance, and _holy fuck_ , he's going to fuck her. And she's going to let him. "Bellamy," she says. "It's just this once, okay?" Because it needs to be just this once. Once he fucks her she'll lose interest in him. It will be like it never happened.

"Whatever you say, Princess," he says. And then he thrusts into her, his huge cock stretching her pussy wide. Clarke whines, and then he thrusts again, and then she's got even more of his cock inside her. She's never had anything so big inside her, her pussy has never felt so full.

" _Oh my god_ ," Clarke groans. "It's so big. Oh god."

"You okay?" he asks.

"Uh huh," Clarke answers. "God. Fuck me. Fuck me hard with your big cock," she demands, and Bellamy complies, pulling out slightly and ramming his cock back into her, hitting her g-spot. He fucks her relentlessly, his cock thrusting in and out, driving her closer to orgasm.

"You like that?" he asks roughly.

"Yes," Clarke moans.

"Yeah?" he says. "You beg your boyfriend to fuck you like this?"

" _No_."

"You're such a naughty girl, Clarke," Bellamy tells her, panting as he continues to fuck her. She's barely even aware of what he's saying, can't think straight, all she knows is she needs him to keep fucking her, needs his cock, needs him to come inside her. She feels something inside her snap then, and her pussy clenches, her whole body writhes against him and she cries out his name as she comes.

"Fuck, _fuck_ ," Bellamy groans, and then he's coming too, his come spurting inside her cunt as it clenches around him. He pulls out of her and she feels his come and her own juices drizzle out of her pussy, and fuck, she's just come twice but the thought of that makes her horny all over again.

"Had enough, Princess?" Bellamy asks, and Clarke turns around to see him smirking. Clarke bites her lip, looks at him innocently and then slowly shakes her head. It may as well be more than once. What difference does it make now, if he fucks her the whole night?

"I want to ride you," she tells him and he groans.

"What about your boyfriend?" he reminds her, as if he hasn't just fucked her nearly senseless. "I thought you said just once."

"He doesn't need to know."

* * *

When Clarke wakes up the next morning it's much later than she usually sleeps, even on a Sunday. It probably has something to with the fact that she'd been up half the night having the wits fucked out of her. Bellamy isn't in the bed beside her but she thinks she can hear him banging about in the kitchen. Clarke slips out of bed and quickly uses the bathroom before wrapping the sheet around her and making her way to the kitchen, picking up her clothes on the way. Bellamy looks up when he hears her enter, his eyes wandering over her body. He's wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs and a smug look.

It's not fair that he looks so hot. She's not supposed to be attracted to him still. Last night was supposed to get it out of her system, but here she is, staring at his naked chest, her mouth watering and a telling surge of wetness between her thighs.

"Sleep well?" he asks her. Clarke nods. "Coffee?" he offers and Clarke shakes her head. She clutches the sheet to her chest, hardly able to look at him.

"I should get dressed and go," she says. Bellamy studies her, noticing her withdrawn attitude.

"You okay?" he asks.

"A little sore," she mutters and he chuckles.

"Not what I meant," he says. "Feeling guilty?" Clarke meets his eyes, and he actually looks concerned.

"Yeah," she admits. "Don't you?" Bellamy shrugs.

"Not really," he says. "I don't really care about Wells. And I really enjoyed fucking you," he smirks. Clarke's stomach flips over and she presses her legs together tightly, trying to tell herself she's not turned on right now. "But I guess it's normal to feel guilty about cheating on your boyfriend."

"That's the thing," Clarke swallows. "I should've felt guilty _while_ I was cheating on him. Or when I was thinking about cheating on him. Now I only feel guilty because I didn't feel guilty. And because I really want to do it again."

Bellamy's eyes snap to hers and he regards her with scrutiny.

"You should get dressed," he says, like he knows it's the right thing to say, but it's not what he _wants_ to say. It's not what Clarke wants him to say either. She needs him to fuck her one last time before she goes. A last-ditch effort to get him out of her system.

"Okay," she says, dropping the sheet to the floor to reveal her naked body to him. Bellamy's jaw clenches and he folds his arms. Clarke doesn't move for a few seconds, waiting for him to do something. He narrows his eyes at her and quirks an eyebrow.

"Put your hands on the counter, Clarke," he commands, his voice slow and deep. Clarke bites her lip and does as she's told, placing her hands on the counter and spreading her legs for him, her ass sticking out.

Bellamy stands behind her and her heart beats wildly, she can barely stand the anticipation. She feels his hand on her ass, caressing her gently, then a finger dipping into her folds.

"Just as I thought," he murmurs. "Soaking wet again. What kind of girl gets off on cheating on their boyfriend, hmm?"

"A bad girl," Clarke says.

"That's right," Bellamy agrees. "I kind of like bad girls though."

"Are you going to fuck me or what?"

"Just this once, right?" Bellamy says, teasing.

"Just this once," she agrees, and at that point she really believes it. Bellamy doesn't waste time with foreplay this time, she's already dripping wet and desperate for him anyway, just from thinking about it. He pulls his cock from his underwear and slides it right into her swollen pussy, and she had him multiple times last night but his size is still a shock. He fucks her hard and fast against the counter, and she comes within minutes, him not far behind her, coming inside her pussy.

Clarke picks her clothes up of the floor and Bellamy helps her get dressed, standing much too close as he pulls her skirt over her hips and slips her top over her head while she watches his lips, wishing he would kiss her.

"You don't need these," he says, holding her panties up, smirking as he pulls them out of her reach as she grabs for them.

"Come on," she huffs. "Wells might notice." Bellamy looks amused.

"I highly doubt that," he says, and Clarke resents his insinuation.

"What, you think Wells and I don't have sex?" she retorts. Bellamy rolls his eyes.

"I know you do," he says. "But I also know you're not going to let him anywhere near that pussy until you're sure you no longer have my come inside you." He grins and Clarke flushes. "You should get home to your boyfriend before he misses you," Bellamy says.

"Yes," Clarke agrees, turning to go.

"Try not to think of me when he fucks you," he calls after her, and Clarke burns from embarrassment and desire.

"Fuck," she mutters to herself once she's alone in the hallway outside Bellamy's apartment. She heads towards the train station, and the guilt starts to wash over her as she makes her way home to her boyfriend, her panties missing and another man's come inside her.

Wells doesn't suspect a thing. Why would he? As far as he knows his girlfriend went to a concert with a guy she barely even likes and then slept on his couch. He has no reason not to trust Clarke. She's never given him a reason to before now.

She tells him the concert was good and that she needs a shower. And he smiles and nods, none the wiser to Clarke's infidelity.

And even though Clarke thinks about Bellamy while she gets herself off in the shower, she honestly thinks everything is going to be okay. She feels guilty enough that she doesn't think she'll cheat on him again, but not so guilty that she feels the need to confess. She's confident that she'll be able to forget all about Bellamy and that in a few weeks this whole thing will seem like a distant dream.

She cooks Wells a romantic dinner that night, hoping to ease her guilt just a little.

"This is out of character," Wells teases. "The last time you cooked for me was on our third date and we ended up getting pizza," he reminds her, wrapping his arms around her waist while she stands at the stove. Clarke tenses up, remembering being in Bellamy's kitchen, naked, with him behind her.

"It's only spaghetti," she says. "And don't distract me or I'll burn it!" she scolds. Wells chuckles and presses a kiss to her cheek before letting her go.

"Okay, I'll leave you to it," he says and Clarke breathes a sigh of relief. She needs to get a grip. She can't go around thinking about Bellamy every time her boyfriend tries to touch her.

Except, after dinner Wells leads her to the bedroom, and he lays her down on the bed and she has to force herself to keep her mind on the man she's with. He kisses her softly, and it's nice, like always.

"Let me thank you for dinner," he whispers, dragging him hands down Clarke's waist to lift up her skirt. "I'm gonna make you feel good." He kisses her inner thigh and she closes her eyes, focusing on his touch as he removes her panties. He only does this occasionally, and it's never _bad,_ but neither does it excite her like it should.

She tries to think about Wells as he strokes her, trying to get her wet, but it's not until she thinks of Bellamy between her legs that she feels the surge of wetness.

 _Wells,_ she scolds herself. _Think of Wells_. _Your boyfriend._ But then she's thinking of him, and he's doing his best to get her off with his tongue, and nothing's _happening_. Which has happened before, occasionally, so she tries to tell herself it's not because of Bellamy. And then she just gets tired of Wells head between her legs and she kind of just wants to go to sleep. So she fakes it.

Wells scrambles back up beside her looking pleased, and Clarke tries to look blissed out and satisfied. She smiles as he wraps her up in his arms.

"I love you, babe," he says.

"I love you too," Clarke responds, because she does love him. And she tells herself again that she's just tired and that her lack of orgasm tonight has nothing to do with Bellamy. She doesn't quite believe it this time.

* * *

Just under a week later Wells still hasn't been able to make her come. He doesn't know that of course, because she just fakes an orgasm when she's had enough of trying to reach a climax that she knows isn't coming. The worst part is she feels like she can't even get herself off while she alone, because she doesn't trust herself not to think of Bellamy.

She tries her hardest not to think about him at all, which of course means she's thinking about him constantly. But it's not a crime to _think_ , right? And if she has a couple of dreams about him where she wakes up hot and flustered, wet and wanting, well she can hardly be blamed for that. She can't control what she _dreams._

Wells gets home late from work on Friday night, and Clarke is already feeling annoyed. He messaged her to tell her and it's not like he has any choice over the matter, but it doesn't make Clarke any less irritated by it.

"Hey," he says, when he finally gets in. "Sorry, I know I said I was going to cook but I had to stay and help Murphy fix his mistake. I got Chinese instead, hope that's okay."

"It's fine," Clarke says shortly, and Wells knows her well enough to know that it isn't fine at all. She's trying to hold it in because she's already aware she's being irrational, but it doesn't stop her from being mad anyway.

"Hey, come on," Wells says gently.

"Don't patronise me, Wells," Clarke says, glaring at him. And maybe it's the pent up sexual frustration or maybe it's the constant guilt she's been trying to squash, but she snaps. "This is so typical of you. You don't even bother to ask me what I want." He glances at the bag of Chinese food in his hand and Clarke huffs. "It's not _just_ about Chinese food."

"What's it about then?" Wells says, clearly starting to get defensive.

"It's about you ignoring my needs!" Clarke yells. "It's about you saying things and not following through!"

"I said I was sorry!" Wells huffs. "It was because Murphy—"

"This isn't about Murphy!"

"Well, can you enlighten me as to what this is really about? Maybe you just need to cool down. Because you're acting kind of crazy," he says. Clarke stares at him with narrowed eyes, livid.

"Fine," she snaps. "I'm going for a walk to _cool down_. Enjoy your Chinese food." And then before she knows what she's even doing she's grabbing her bag and storming out of the apartment, Wells calling after her exasperatedly.

She knows she's not thinking straight. She's mad, for probably no reason, and she just walked out of her apartment at eight o'clock at night with nowhere to go. If she was dressed nicer she could go and chill out at a bar for a few hours, but as it is she's dressed in a paint stained tank top with no bra, jeans with holes in the wrong places and a pair of worn ballet flats.

Her pride won't let her go back inside, and then her feet are carrying her towards the train station and somehow she ends up at Bellamy's apartment building. If she'd had to press the buzzer and stand on the street and wait, she probably would have turned around and gone home. But someone is heading out just as she gets there and she catches the door and heads straight to Bellamy's apartment where she knocks on his door. It's not until he opens it, just a wedge, and gives her a look of surprise and confusion that she realises how stupid she's being.

"Clarke?" Bellamy says, opening the door wider. Clarke opens her mouth, then quickly shuts it again, feeling foolish. Her eyes flick down to his lips for just a second, then further down, because apparently she can't seem to help herself. She hates herself for wanting him so badly.

"I'm sorry," she says finally. "I shouldn't have come, I don't know why I'm here," she shakes her head in embarrassment, turning to go. Bellamy catches her arm. She glances down to where his hand grips her, her skin burning from his touch.

"I know why you're here," he says, and when she manages to meet his eyes she expects him to be smirking, laughing at her. But all she sees is dark heat in his eyes as they drop down to where her tank top has slipped so low it's almost indecent. She swallows.

"You do?" she manages to murmur, despite the fact that her throat seems totally devoid of moisture. The same cannot be said for her panties.

"Your boyfriend can't satisfy you and you can't stop thinking about me," Bellamy says, and he's smirking now. Clarke huffs.

"That's not—"

"So you don't want my cock then?" he says, letting go of her arm. She does want it. She wants it so bad. There's a dull throb between her legs letting her know how much she wants his cock inside her.

"I shouldn't even be here," she whispers. "Wells—"

"Can't give you what you need, Princess," Bellamy says, his voice low. "I can." His words send a jolt straight to her core and she can't help but give in, reaching for him.

"Uh uh," he smirks, stopping her. "Let's make a deal. I'll let you in and fuck you good and hard, but you have to take your top off first."

"What… here?" Clarke says, glancing down the hallway. Bellamy nods. "But someone might see."

"Come on, Clarke, I know you get off on the possibility of being caught," he grins and Clarke does her best not to blush "So how about you take off that flimsy excuse for a top and show me those pretty tits. Does your boyfriend know you're out here with no bra, your nipples practically showing, hm? I bet everyone on the train was staring at those hard little nipples, knowing you weren't wearing a bra. I bet it turned you on to have strangers staring at your tits."

Clarke bites her lip and glances down the hallway again. She hates that he's right. She gets a thrill as she grips the bottom of her tank top and pulls it over her head, then letting it fall to the ground. Bellamy's gaze darkens as he stares at her tits and she puffs her chest out a little for show. Fuck, she wants him to touch them.

"Can I come in now?" she asks.

"Not yet, baby," Bellamy says. "I want to see them bounce a little, come on." Clarke flushes, but she's getting desperate. Her panties are soaked through and her pussy aches to be touched, so she bounces a little for him, her tits jiggling obscenely, and she should feel stupid but instead it just turns her on.

"Please Bellamy," Clarke whines. "Let me in. I don't want someone to see."

"I think you do want someone to see," Bellamy says knowingly. "And we both know the real reason you want to come in is because you're desperate to get fucked. Isn't it?" Clarke nods. "Say it."

"I'm desperate to get fucked," Clarke says obediently, and god, the way he's talking to her has her more desperate than ever. Wells never talks to her like this. He's always treats her so delicately, and he's not really into her talking dirty to him either. She's never had the courage to tell him she wants it hard and dirty.

Bellamy doesn't need to be told. He already knows how bad she wants it, he just gets off on hearing her beg for it, knows it turns her on too.

"I'm gonna need more than that," Bellamy says. "Tell me how much you want it."

"Please Bellamy," Clarke begs. "I need your cock so bad. I need you to fuck me, I want you inside me. Fuck me hard. Please Bellamy, I'm so horny."

"Why?" Bellamy demands.

"Why?"

"Why are you so horny?"

"Because my boyfriend can't make me come," Clarke admits.

"And who can?"

"You," Clarke says, and Bellamy finally drags her inside, slamming the door behind her.

He grabs at her tits roughly as he kisses her, sloppy and hard and Clarke winds her arms around his neck, twisting her fingers into his hair. Bellamy's hands migrate to her ass as he kisses down her neck, then drops his head to her tits, kissing the soft flesh then taking a nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue.

"Fuck Bellamy," Clarke groans. "I love your mouth on my tits."

"I know you do," Bellamy says smugly, lifting his head. He squeezes her ass and she shrieks joyfully before dissolving into laughter. "Up," he commands, and Clarke obeys, hooking her legs around him as he hoists her onto his hips, his fingers digging into her ass. Bellamy returns his mouth to her breasts, paying attention to the other nipple now, lavishing it with his tongue and Clarke can feel the tug at her clit, as if it's directly connected to her nipple with a piece of fishing line. Bellamy keeps one arm around her, pressing her back against the door while he brings his other hand to her neglected tit, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger while he continues to work his tongue on the other.

"Bellamy," Clarke moans, her head rolling back against the door. "I need you to fuck me."

"Not yet, Princess," he says. "I wanna see if I can make you come just from playing with your tits." Clarke moans again at that.

"It's impossible," she tells him. "I've never done that."

"We'll see," Bellamy grins smugly, twisting her nipple with his fingers, sending a pulse right to her cunt. "I love your tits, Clarke," he tells her, running his tongue over her right nipple. "Such pretty pink nipples," he murmurs. "I loved watching you bounce for me. Did it turn you on?"

"Yes," Clarke says. Bellamy lets his teeth graze over her nipple gently and she whimpers.

"They're so big baby," he continues. "Even when you're wearing a bra I can see them jiggling when you walk and it makes me so hard." He moves his tongue to her other nipple, and Clarke's pussy is throbbing now, needing badly to be touched. She can feel her He licks around her areola then across her pointed nipple. "Can you feel it in your cunt?"

"Mmhmm," Clarke whimpers. She can feel it alright. Every flick of his tongue winds her tighter, bringing her closer to the edge.

"Are you gonna come for me?" Bellamy says.

"Uh huh," Clarke nods, and she's almost there. Bellamy sucks her nipple into his mouth, hard, and then she's coming, tightening her grip in his hair as she shudders against him, a silent cry on her lips. She drops her head to his as she comes down, breathing heavy.

"Oh my god," she murmurs. "I can't believe you just made me come without even taking my pants off."

"Told you," he chuckles. "You just need someone to do it right." He sets her down on the ground and she manages to stand though her legs feel like jelly.

"That's all well and good," she says breathily. "But you promised me you'd fuck me good and hard." Bellamy grins.

"Well, I wouldn't want to break a promise," he says wolfishly. He goes to grab her and kiss her, but she stops him with a hand on his chest. "What?" he asks in confusion.

"Your turn," Clarke says, her eyes flicking down his torso where he's still painfully clothed. Bellamy shakes his head with a smirk before pulling his shirt over his head and casting it aside. Clarke can't help but stare at his chest for a moment, before swallowing and glancing down to his crotch and sizeable bulge.

"Pants," she demands next, though her voice is a little strangled. Bellamy takes his time as he undoes his pants, letting Clarke tingle with the anticipation. He kicks his pants aside with his shirt and stands there in his underwear.

"Now what, Princess?" he asks her, and Clarke manages to drag her eyes away from his crotch long enough to see him smirking at her.

"Now you fuck me until I can't remember my own name," Clarke breathes.

"As long as you still remember mine," Bellamy growls, grabbing her by the belt loops on her jeans and tugging her in to kiss her.

He spins her around so her back is pressed against his chest, his erection pushing against her ass. He kisses her neck as one hand fondles her tits and the other snakes into her jeans and panties, his finger dipping into her wet slit. He grinds his cock against her ass and suddenly there's too much clothing separating them.

"I need these off," Clarke whines, tugging jeans down her legs. She trips in her haste to get them off and falls to the floor.

"You okay?" Bellamy asks, obviously holding back a laugh.

"Just help me get these _off_ ," Clarke huffs, and Bellamy drops to his knees in front of her before dragging her jeans down her legs until they're lying on the floor. He then helps her with her panties, soaked with her juices, until she's naked before him, sitting on the floor with her knees spread. Bellamy gazes at her bare cunt, the want evident in his eyes, and god, she needs him now.

"Fuck me," she commands, though maybe it comes out more like a whine.

"You want me to fuck you here on the floor?" he asks gruffly. "That's how much you want it, huh? Can't even make it to the bed?"

"I need it now," Clarke says.

"Fuck," Bellamy groans. He stands up to remove his underwear hastily before kneeling back down between her knees.

"Are you gonna fuck me hard now?"

"I'm gonna fuck you harder than you've ever been fucked," Bellamy growls and Clarke lets out a stifled moan. He leans over her, pushing her down until her back is against the floor. She feels his cock slide against her pussy lips and she spreads her legs wider. Bellamy positions his cock at her entrance then pushes into her, and she groans as his thick cock enters her cunt, spreading her wide.

" _Yes_ ," she moans. "Fill me with your cock."

"I'm gonna fill you with more than my cock," Bellamy tells her, thrusting his hips into her. "I'm gonna fill you with my come." Clarke moans her approval. "You like that? You like having my come inside you?" he says as he fucks into her, slow at first but gradually increasing his pace.

"Yes," Clarke gasps.

"Did you like going home to your boyfriend with my come inside you? I bet it dripped out of your pussy on your way home," Bellamy continues, still fucking her.

"It did," Clarke admits. "I got your come all over my skirt and thighs."

"So fucking dirty," Bellamy growls. "I bet you fucking loved it, didn't you?"

"Yes," Clarke pants. "Yes, I loved it. Please, fuck me harder." Bellamy obliges, now unable to speak with the effort he's giving, driving into her so hard and fast she feels like she might break. Clarke loses herself in the bliss, the only thing she's aware of is Bellamy's cock filling her, hitting her g-spot over and over.

"Bellamy," she moans.

"Say it again."

"Bellamy. _Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy_ ," she chants in time to his thrusts. "Oh Bell, I'm gonna come." She does a second later, her eyes rolling back in pleasure as he continues to fuck her, chasing his own release. "Come in me," she whines. "Please come inside me, Bell." It's her words that do it and he spills inside her, thrusting one last time with all the energy he has left.

"Fuck," he says, panting. "God Clarke." He pulls out of her, some of his come leaking out of her pussy. "You're not going to tell me that was the last time, are you?" Clarke bites her lip. She doesn't think she can honestly say she won't fuck him again. But she can't say she _will,_ because every time she does this her crime becomes much worse.

"You don't have to say anything," he assures her. "I know there's going to be a next time."


	2. Chapter 2

She wakes up in Bellamy's bed again, and he's there beside her this time, still fast asleep. She watches him for a moment, a small smile playing on her lips. She remembers her fight with Wells and waits for the wave of guilt to hit her. But it never comes. She's not sure what that means.

"Are you watching me sleep?" Bellamy murmurs, not opening his eyes. Clarke grins.

"No."

Bellamy opens one eye and Clarke grins wider. Bellamy opens his other eye and stretches while Clarke admires his muscles.

"I'm surprised you're still here," Bellamy says.

"I'm not ready to face the music yet."

"You're going to tell him?" Bellamy says, surprised.

"Of course not," Clarke scoffs. "But we had a fight and I overreacted and he'll want to know where I've been. He's probably called me like seven hundred times."

Bellamy clenches his jaw. "He loves you."

"Yeah. And I love him too, but…" she glances at Bellamy, chewing her lip. "I don't want to stop this." Bellamy frowns. "What? You're not feeling bad, are you?"

Bellamy shakes his head. "I don't want to stop either. I'm sure you know what you're doing."

Clarke thinks there's a warning in there somewhere, but she doesn't stop to dwell on it.

"We should probably talk about all the irresponsible unprotected sex we've been having," Clarke says. Bellamy looks panicked for a second. Clarke snorts at his worried expression. "Don't worry, I'm on the pill. I've only been with Wells since I last got tested so I'm pretty sure I'm clean but we should probably both get tested anyway."

"Yeah," Bellamy agrees, relieved.

"And then we can have all the unprotected sex you like," Clarke grins. "As long as you're using a condom with anyone else you're sleeping with."

He rolls his eyes. "Clarke, I'm not—" he stops.

"Not what?"

"I'm not… an idiot. I know when to use a condom."

"Good." She leans over to kiss him, barely registering what she's doing. "I have to get back to Wells. I'll just say I crashed here because it's the last place he'd look for me. He won't suspect anything."

Bellamy nods but doesn't say anything, and Clarke makes her way back to her own apartment.

Wells is relieved to find her home in one piece, and she apologises for overreacting and he apologises for calling her crazy. She tells him she went to Bellamy's and slept on his couch and Wells buys it.

"I called everyone and he was the only one who didn't pick up, so I figured you were there," Wells shrugs.

"So, I guess everyone knows we had a fight then?"

"Sorry," Wells says sheepishly. "I was worried."

"I know, babe," Clarke sighs, pulling him into a hug.

"I love you."

"I know."

* * *

Over the next couple of weeks, Clarke spends most of her time thinking about Bellamy. Trying to come up with ways she can see him, be alone with him. But the thing is, she and Bellamy have never even really been friends, and she fears that if she starts spending more time with him, Wells will get suspicious.

She can't skip out on time with Wells to spend time with Bellamy. She can't sneak off in the middle of the night in case Wells wakes up and finds her gone. She can't use any of her other friends as an excuse because it might get back to Wells that she lied. She doesn't even want to message Bellamy in case by some chance Wells happens to look at her phone. So she has to make do with fantasies of Bellamy. And it's so not enough.

When Wells tells her he has to go away for a week on a business trip, she tries not to seem too excited. He's expecting her to miss him. To be sad that he's going. Or annoyed, even. But all she can think about is having the place to herself, being able to fuck Bellamy in her own bed. Not having to worry about Wells wondering where she is when she's with Bellamy.

But she pretends to be a little disappointed she won't see him for a week, and she helps him pack his bag, and as soon as he's on the plane she calls Bellamy. He picks up almost immediately.

"Clarke," he says. Just the sound of his voice makes her shiver.

"What are you doing tonight?" she asks.

"No plans."

"Wells is out of town for a week."

"And?"

Clarke huffs. "And I want you to come over and fuck me. All night, every night."

Bellamy pauses. "I'll be over at seven," he says. And then he hangs up.

* * *

Clarke can't stop thinking about it all day. She can't focus on her work, thoughts to consumed by Bellamy and the things she wants him to do to her. She misses his cock inside her, the rough way he fucks her, the dirty things he says to her. When she goes to the bathroom at 10am her panties are already soaked.

On a whim, she goes lingerie shopping on her lunchbreak and buys the sexiest thing she can find. She's going to fucking blow him and his mind tonight.

She takes an hour and a half to get ready that night. Honestly, she doesn't even know why she's trying so hard. It's not like this is the first time they've fucked. But she shaves everything, puts on make-up, even does her hair a little bit. She puts on a silky robe over the scraps of lace she's got on, and at exactly 7pm, Bellamy rings the buzzer and she lets him up.

He smirks when he sees what she's wearing, the robe hanging off one shoulder to reveal a bare shoulder. He has a bag and a bottle of wine with him.

"Someone got dressed up for me," he says. He reaches for the robe and pulls it open, giving her body an appraising look. Clarke lets the robe fall off her other shoulder and to the floor. The lingerie she bought doesn't cover much. Her nipples are visible and so is most of her cunt.

"Do you like it?" she asks, her voice low. Bellamy nods approvingly, his eyes dark with want.

"Where should I put this?" he asks, holding up the wine. Clarke takes it from him and leads him to the kitchen, putting the wine on the counter. She likes wine, but she's hoping they won't have time for that.

"And this?" Bellamy gestures to his bag. God, he's really going to stay all week. Clarke can't wait.

"Bedroom," she says, leading him there. She glances behind as he follows, and his eyes are glued to her ass, almost completely bare, apart from a tiny strip of lace.

They reach the bedroom and Bellamy dumps his bag on the floor. Clarke watches him, waiting patiently for him to grab her and fuck her into oblivion. Instead, he wanders around the room, looking around like it's up for sale.

He reaches the window, where there's a long seat covered in cushions.

"Has Wells ever fucked you here?" he asks.

Clarke shakes her head.

"Why not?"

"It's in front of the window," Clarke swallows. "People can see in."

Bellamy smirks. "I guess he doesn't like that," Bellamy says. "Because I know you do."

"I didn't know you were interested in Wells's kinks," she quips back, though she's blushing at his words.

He raises an eyebrow. "I don't believe he has any," he says. " _You_ on the other hand. You have plenty. And I want to find out every single one of them."

Clarke nods, biting her lip. She wants that too.

"Come here," Bellamy says. The timbre of his voice has her pussy throbbing. She does as he asks, and he grabs her as soon as she's close enough, bringing his mouth down on hers. He grabs her ass and she gives a squeak of surprise.

"You want me to fuck you in front of this window? So all your neighbours can see?" he asks her.

"Yes," Clarke murmurs. His hand slides down between her legs, stroking her there.

"You're so wet already," he says, pleased.

"I've been wet all day," Clarke tells him. "I've been thinking about you. I bought this just for you."

Bellamy kisses her again, still stroking her between her legs. "Seems a shame to take it off," he says. "But I need to see those pretty tits."

His arms reach around her, fiddling with the clasp until he successfully gets it undone, and swiftly throws her bra to the floor. Then his mouth is on her nipple, sucking hard, and he backs her against the window seat, popping her nipple out of his mouth as he pushes her down onto it. He falls to his knees in front of her, spreading her legs. He drags her thong down her thighs throws it aside, leaving her pussy naked to his eye.

"I've missed this pussy," he growls. He presses a kiss on her inner thigh, and Clarke feels a surge of wetness between her legs, anticipating his next move. "When was the last time you got fucked properly, hm?"

"When you fucked me last," Clarke tells him.

Bellamy nods. "I thought so." He kisses her again, higher up her thigh. He sucks her skin between his teeth and she whimpers. Her hands find their way into his hair, fingers twining into his curls.

"Bell," she says, the anticipation killing her. "Fuck me, please fuck me."

She's desperate for it, and he's barely even touched her. She needs his cock so badly.

"Face the window," he tells her, and Clarke scrambles to her knees, turning to face the window, while he undresses behind her. She can see out perfectly. She's done plenty of people watching from here, and she knows people can see in. She gets a thrill knowing that if someone looked up now, or over from an apartment across the street, they'd see her fully naked, about to be fucked from behind.

She sticks her ass out for him, and he trails his fingers along her dripping wet slit. Clarke whines, and her walls clench, desperate for something inside her.

"You want it, Princess?" Bellamy asks. He presses the tip of his hard cock against her entrance, and Clarke's insides lurch. She presses her hands against the window to steady herself.

"I want it so bad," she tells him.

"Let's give them a show, huh?" he purrs, and he presses into her, making her groan. Fuck, she'd forgotten how big he is. But he feels so good, filling her up. She knows it won't take her long to come.

Bellamy grips her hips, and he finally gives her what she wants, driving into her hard and fast. She can feel her tits jiggling obscenely, and she wonders if anyone can see her. The thought nearly sends her over the edge.

"How about I play with your asshole?" Bellamy grunts, and Clarke whimpers, suddenly desperate for just that. "Would you like that?"

"Oh my god," she moans. "Yes. _Yes_."

She feels a finger probe at her ass, still wet from her pussy, and she gasps as he pushes it inside her, still fucking her pussy, though a little slower now. Her head spins, and she moans loudly. God, the whole situation is so wrong, and it only turns her on more. Her boyfriend is out of town and she's in their bedroom, being fucked and fingered by another man, in full view of anyone who wants to look over and see them.

"Come on, baby," he murmurs. "You're nearly there."

"Uh huh," Clarke responds, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm gonna come, Bell," she pants. He crooks his finger in her ass, and she breaks beneath him, gasping and moaning as she comes. Bellamy gives a groan of relief as he comes inside her.

He presses a kiss to her shoulder, and then another to her back, and he slides out of her. Clarke immediately misses the feeling of him filling her. His come trickles out of her, down her thigh.

"Did we shock anyone?" Bellamy asks. Clarke's eyes search the apartment building across the road. She can see a few lights on, but no one standing by their window. She's almost disappointed. She shakes her head, and turns back to Bellamy. He surprises her by kissing her, long and sweet. Her stomach swoops.

"Next time," he promises. "Now. I want to fuck you in that bed you share with Wells. I want to taint it so that every time you lie down to go to sleep, anytime Wells tries to fuck you here, you think of me."

Clarke gives him a wry smile. "I already do."

Bellamy gives her a smug look. "Better safe than sorry."


	3. Chapter 3

Clarke wakes up with a scratchy throat, but it's quickly forgotten when Bellamy wakes up beside her and lazily fingers her to orgasm. Wells is never in the mood for sex in the morning, preferring to get an extra twenty minutes of sleep, but Bellamy has no such preference, and his fingers are quickly replaced with his cock, quickly making her come again before he fills her with his come.

"I wish we could stay here all day," Clarke complains as Bellamy gets out of bed to clean himself up. She lets her eyes roam over his naked body, enjoying the view. "I just want you to fuck me over and over and over…"

Bellamy smirks at her. "I know you do. But it's better if you have to wait for it."

Clarke pouts. "Do we at least have time for one more before we have to go to work?"

Bellamy tilts his head, considering. "Maybe if we shower at the same time."

That's enough to get Clarke out of bed, and she drags Bellamy to the bathroom, managing to get her lips on his a few times before they squeeze into the shower. It isn't really big enough for two people, but Clarke wants to be as close to him as possible anyway, so it doesn't really matter. Bellamy presses her against the shower wall and fucks her from behind, the hard planes of his body pressed against her back as he kisses her neck and rolls his hips against her slowly.

She's late for work, despite her best intentions, flushed, horny and panty-less. Worse than that, she's more aware that her throat hurts, and by lunch it feels like she must have swallowed a bunch of razors. At around 3pm she starts sneezing, and by the time she knocks off at 5, she has to admit it to herself: she's sick.

She curls up in bed as soon as she gets home, feeling sorry for herself. She knows it's just a cold, but it's only going to get worse before it gets better, and there is no way Bellamy is going to want to fuck a sick person. Not that she can blame him. With the way she's feeling she doesn't think she's up to it anyway. And she probably won't be better until after Wells gets home, so the whole week is ruined.

Bellamy gets home 20 minutes after she does, calling her name, and Clarke wants nothing more than to feel well so he can fuck her into oblivion. Bellamy flicks on the light as he enters the bedroom. Clarke is facing away from him, curled up so he can't see her red and runny nose.

"In bed already?" he says, and she hears him kick off his shoes.

"Bell," she sniffles. "You should go home." There's a pause, and then Clarke feels the mattress sink with his weight.

"Why?" he asks, sounding concerned. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" He reaches out to rub her shoulder.

"I'm fine. I just have a cold."

"Oh. Do you want me to get you something? A hot drink? Some medicine?"

Clarke shakes her head, but she still doesn't face him. "I just want you to go."

He still doesn't leave. "Are you sure?" he asks, hesitant. "Wells isn't here to look after you."

"I don't want you to see me like this," Clarke says, and she thinks she might sound like a petulant child. "I only want you to think of me as sexy."

"Clarke," Bellamy says, sounding a little exasperated.

"You'll think it's gross and then you won't want to have sex with me ever again."

Bellamy laughs and Clarke scowls. She feels him scoot closer to her and then his body is pressed against hers, spooning her, pressing his lips to her shoulder.

"Do you remember your twenty-first birthday?" he murmurs.

"Not really."

He laughs again, and Clarke feels a weird tug in her stomach. Does his _laugh_ turn her on?

"Not surprising," he says. "You and Octavia went out, and then you stayed over."

"Right. Is there a point to this?"

"I'm getting there," Bellamy says. "You were both wasted. Even though Octavia was only twenty and I specifically told her not to drink until she was old enough," he says, annoyed.

"Bell. The point."

"Sorry. Octavia passed out on the couch, and I went to get to get you a glass of water and when I came back you were bawling your eyes out. Some drunk existential crisis. You had mascara all over your face and your hair was a mess. And then when I tried to comfort you, you threw up on me. And yourself."

"Is this supposed to be making me feel better?"

"I'm saying I've already seen you at your worst. And I still want to have sex with you. Well, not right now because you're sick. But when you're not sick I promise I'll still think you're sexy."

Clarke chews her lip. Why is he being so nice to her? Sex is off the table and he's still here. She's not sure how she's supposed to feel, what she's supposed to think.

"And remember the time—"

"Okay, I get it," Clarke cuts him off. "No need to bring up every time I've ever been ugly."

"You've never been ugly," Bellamy assures her. "Let me take care of you," he whispers. "I promise I'm good at it."

Clarke hesitates. She still feels like she should say no, but she's not sure why. "Okay," she says. "A hot drink would be nice."

It turns out Bellamy is good at taking care of sick people. He changes her sheets and provides her with medicine and a honey and lemon drink. He cooks for her, and he's actually really good at it, though admittedly Clarke can't taste much while she's sick. They eat on the couch in front of the TV, Clarke swaddled in blankets.

After dinner he tucks her back in bed.

"You want me to go?" Bellamy asks her.

Clarke shakes her head. "Stay," she tells him.

"I can sleep on the couch if you want."

"Don't be stupid," Clarke says. "You won't fit." She grabs his arms and drags him into bed with her, though he's still fully dressed. He pulls his shirt off and Clarke gets her laptop from the bedside table before leaning back against him and hitting play on an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine that she's already seen seven times.

"Oh hey, I love this one," Bellamy says.

"Me too," Clarke says. But she's asleep before it ends.

* * *

Clarke checks the time when she wakes up, panicking when she sees it's after ten. She hasn't called her boss to let her know she's sick. She quickly dials her boss's number. She's going to be in so much trouble.

"Clarke?" Diyoza answers.

"I'm so sorry," Clarke says quickly. "I'm really sick. I slept in and—"

"I know, Clarke," Diyoza interrupts.

"You know?"

"Your boyfriend called earlier."

"Wells?"

"Yeah, Wells. It's just a cold, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah."

"So you'll be back Friday."

"Okay."

"See you then, Clarke." Diyoza hangs up and Clarke puts her phone down, confused. Is Wells home? Does he know she's sick?

Bellamy walks into the bedroom. "You're awake," he says.

"What are you doing here?" Clarke asks. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"I called in sick. I also called in sick for you."

"Oh. Did I get you sick?"

"No, I just thought you might want some company," Bellamy shrugs. "You want something to eat?"

Clarke nods. "Just some toast please."

"I'll make you some tea as well. How are you feeling?"

"Crappy."

Bellamy gives her a sympathetic smile. "Take a couple more tablets. It'll help with the symptoms."

Clarke nods and Bellamy leaves the room to make her breakfast.

He stays with her the whole day and they watch a movie and play some video games. Clarke finds herself actually enjoying his company, despite the fact that her nose keep running and her chest is all congested.

Maybe it's odd that she and Bellamy never really became friends. She and Octavia met in freshman year of college when they were assigned as each other's roommates, and she's known Bellamy just as long, since he was the one helping Octavia move in that day. But Clarke had always found him annoyingly overprotective of Octavia, and somehow he always managed to ruin their fun. He acted more like Octavia's father than her brother most of the time. Which he had to be, in a way, Clarke supposes. Octavia's father was never around and Aurora, Bellamy and Octavia's mother, died young, when Octavia was fifteen and Bellamy was twenty.

Bellamy is definitely more fun now.

It looks like he's still planning to stay the whole week, and honestly, Clarke is grateful. It's not that she doesn't like being alone, but being sick and alone kind of sucks. And she finally has some competition at Mario Kart, since Wells sucks at it.

Bellamy makes soup for dinner, and they eat in front of the TV again. They're halfway through watching an episode of The Bachelor that happens to be on (though both of them claim they don't want to watch it), when Bellamy's phone rings, and it's Octavia.

"Hey," he answers, muting the TV. "What's going on?" Clarke watches him as he listens to whatever Octavia is saying. "Oh, uh… I'm at Clarke's, actually." A pause. "What? Clarke and I are totally friends." He rolls his eyes and Clarke bites back a smile. "Don't be stupid. She's sick and I'm looking after her… that's correct, he's not here… I don't hate him. Okay, maybe I hate him a bit." Clarke raises her eyebrows at him and he pokes his tongue out. They're obviously talking about Wells. "Ha, very funny. I won't. Okay, love you too, bye." He hangs up.

"What was that all about?" Clarke asks.

"She wanted to know why I wasn't home," Bellamy says. "She was hoping I'd cook her something because she can't be bothered," he rolls his eyes.

"She could come here," Clarke suggests.

Bellamy looks taken aback by the suggestion, like he'd never considered it. "She might get your cold," he says.

"Fair enough," Clarke shrugs. He doesn't seem to care if _he_ gets her cold though. "Do you really hate Wells?"

Bellamy shrugs. "Kind of."

"Why?"

"He's pretentious," Bellamy says. "And he's always up on his high horse, acting like he's some kind of morality god."

"You hate him because he's a good person."

"Shut up," Bellamy says, nudging her with his shoulder.

Clarke studies him for a moment. "You're a good person too, you know," she tells him.

Bellamy gives her a sceptical look. "Pretty sure if I was a good person I wouldn't be secretly fucking a woman who has a boyfriend. Even if I hate that boyfriend."

Clarke reddens. "Well. Apart from that." She's well aware this means that she is also a bad person. But she's known it for a while now, and it doesn't really bother her anymore.

Bellamy throws his arm around her and pulls her in close. He grabs the remote and unmutes the TV. "Who cares, anyway? Being good is overrated."

* * *

They both go to work on Friday, and Clarke is feeling a lot better, though she's not totally over her cold. But if she's well enough to go to work, she's well enough to have Bellamy eat her out tonight. She still doesn't want him to kiss her face until she's better, but it's too much to be around him all week and not have him get her off _somehow_. Then again, she doesn't know if she'll be satisfied with just that, and she'll probably end up begging him to fuck her. Being sick and horny at the same time kind of sucks.

She gets home and showers, and then patiently waits for Bellamy to get home. Only, when the door finally opens, it's not Bellamy, it's Wells. Clarke's stomach drops.

"Hey!" she says, jumping up from the couch. Her voice is too high, her eyes too wide, but she hopes Wells doesn't notice her panic. "You're home early!"

"Yeah," Wells smiles. He drops his bag and pulls Clarke into his arms and kisses her. "I missed you. We finished early so I figured I may as well come home tonight instead of tomorrow morning."

"That's great!" Clarke lies. All she can think about is how Bellamy's things are still in their bedroom, and that in a few minutes Bellamy himself will probably be walking through that door.

"Hey, you know what we should do?" Clarke says. "We should go out for a drink and maybe dinner!"

"Yeah, okay," Wells smiles. "Just let me get changed."

"No!" Clarke says quickly. "You look great like that."

Wells gives her an amused look. "Okay," he agrees. He looks Clarke up and down. She's just wearing underwear and a robe again. "What about you?"

"Right! I'll be two minutes. Wait here."

Clarke grabs her phone and hurries into the bedroom, texting Bellamy as she goes.

 **Wells home. We're going out so you can grab your things and hide any other evidence you were here. I'm sorry.**

She sends the message and throws on a dress and some heels before dragging Wells out of the apartment. She tries to tell herself the heavy feeling in the bottom of her stomach is guilt. Maybe that would mean she's not as terrible as she thinks she is. But she knows it's not really guilt. It's crushing disappointment.


	4. Chapter 4

Once Clarke is over the shock of Wells coming home early, she's actually happy to have him home. Yeah, maybe he doesn't fuck her quite as good as Bellamy does. But he loves her, and she loves him and he's her best friend. And as long as he doesn't find out about Bellamy, Clarke plans to keep it that way.

Bellamy never replies to her message, but she can see that he's seen it, and when she and Wells get home from dinner, there is no trace of him in the apartment. She takes Wells to their bedroom and they make love on clean sheets that Bellamy must have changed while they were out. She doesn't come, but it's still nice.

They spend the day together on Saturday, and Wells pretends to be offended when Clarke leaves the house on Saturday night to go out for drinks with Octavia and Raven. But Raven has such a busy schedule that if Clarke doesn't see her tonight, she probably won't see her for another three months.

They meet at their usual hangout spot, and it's been weeks since she's seen either of them, so there's plenty to catch up on. Raven is dating some guy named Shaw, and Octavia is pretty sure there's a woman at work that's into her. But weirdly, Octavia is much more interested in Clarke.

"What's up with you and my brother?" she asks, sipping at her gin and tonic. Clarke almost chokes on her own drink.

"What do you mean?" she asks.

Octavia raises an eyebrow. "You know what I mean. He was at your house, _taking care of you_. Since when are you even friends?"

Clarke shrugs, swirling her straw in her drink. "We had a good time at Lana Del Rey." An understatement. "He's not as bad as I thought."

"I never thought I'd see the day," Raven laughs.

"So, what? You were sick and you called _him_?" Octavia presses. And okay, to be fair, Octavia has every reason to be suspicious. Clarke has known Bellamy for seven years and they've never once hung out alone together without Octavia forcing it on them.

"I didn't call him," Clarke huffs. "He called me to… see if I wanted to hang out. Because we're friends. And I happened to be sick."

"If you say so," Octavia says. Thankfully she's satisfied enough to change the subject. But Clarke can't help but feel a little uneasy. Does Octavia know something? Or suspect something? Or does she just think it's weird that after seven years Clarke suddenly decided she likes her brother?

* * *

Clarke is up making coffee the next morning, Wells still asleep in bed, when Bellamy rings. She stares at her phone for a moment, her heart thudding.

"Bellamy?" she answers. When he hadn't responded to her text the other night, she thought he might be mad at her, so she's a little surprised that he's calling. Plus, though she'd never said it out loud, she kind of assumed _she_ would always be the one doing the booty calling.

"Octavia doesn't believe me that you and I are friends," Bellamy says.

Clarke grins. "She wouldn't believe me either."

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"What are you doing today? We should hang out."

Clarke bites her lip. She doesn't have any plans with Wells today, and her throbbing pussy is currently reminding her she never got her scheduled orgasm on Friday. "Okay," Clarke agrees, already anticipating what he'll do to her.

"Come over to my place when you can?"

"Sure," Clarke agrees. "See you soon," she says, ending the call. She takes the coffee back into the bedroom. Wells groans as she wakes him up.

"Hey," she says softly, handing him a cup of coffee while he squints at her. "You didn't have any plans for us today, did you, babe?"

Wells shakes his head, sipping the coffee. "Why?"

"Bellamy asked me if I want to hang out," Clarke says. Better to go with _mostly_ the truth.

Wells frowns. "Bellamy? You hate him."

"I don't hate him."

"You think he's annoying and no fun."

"I changed my mind. We're friends now."

Wells stares at her a moment longer. "Okay. Whatever. These Blakes keep stealing you from me," he jokes.

Clarke smiles at him. "I'm sure I won't be out long. We can watch the new episode of that doctor show you like when I get home."

"Okay," Wells murmurs. He leans in for a kiss and Clarke obliges, before Wells falls back against the pillows.

Clarke heads for the shower then, and puts on a tiny skirt after towelling herself off, not bothering with panties. Bellamy will probably only take them from her anyway. She gives Wells a kiss on the head before she goes out.

She's already dripping wet when she reaches Bellamy's apartment building, just from fantasising about him fucking her. He buzzes her up, and she's ready for him to grab her and fuck her against the wall as soon as he opens the door to his apartment. But instead he walks out into the hallway with a picnic basket and says, "Ready to go?" He closes the door.

"Go where?" Clarke asks, confused.

Bellamy shrugs. He holds up the basket. "For a picnic."

"A _picnic_?"

"You don't like picnics?"

"I mean… picnics are fine," Clarke says. "But we're really just hanging out? You didn't ask me here so you could fuck my brains out?"

Bellamy shakes his head. "I'm trying to prove to Octavia that you and I are friends. That means we have to hang out without having sex."

Clarke pouts. "But I didn't put on panties."

Bellamy groans, looking pained. He grabs her hand and pulls her close. Clarke closes her eyes, sure he's going to kiss her. "Don't make this any harder than it is," he whispers. Then he lets her go, and Clarke opens her eyes to see him striding off down the hallway. She hurries to catch up with him. Clarke half expects him to burst out laughing and tell her this is some elaborate prank and then take her to a fancy hotel.

They take his car, and he opens the door for her and then puts the picnic basket in the back and settles himself behind the wheel. Clarke tries to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. She's not even sure _why_ she suddenly feels so nervous. It's just Bellamy. Stupid Bellamy she's known for seven years, who's fucked her too many times to count, and who now apparently wants to be her friend.

"You okay?" he asks, starting the car.

Clarke nods shortly. "Of course."

They drive for an hour, and Bellamy manages to make conversation the whole way. Clarke is sure she must have responded in some way, but she can't remember a thing she said now, as he pulls into a gravel drive that leads to a parking lot. There are a few other cars parked haphazardly, there are no lines to mark the spaces. Bellamy pulls up and turns off the car.

"Where are we?" Clarke asks, unclipping her seatbelt.

"Lake Patterson."

She can't see the lake from here, there are pine trees in every direction. Bellamy gets out of the car and grabs the picnic basket, and Clarke follows.

They walk along a track to the lake, and Bellamy finds a clear spot amongst the pine trees to put the blanket down, with a clear view of the lake and the track around it. They pass a woman jogging around the lake, and a couple of people walking their dogs, but other than that, the place is pretty deserted.

Bellamy sits down on the blanket and Clarke copies, her eyes on him the whole time. She folds her legs under herself as Bellamy starts pulling things out of the picnic basket.

"You want ham or chicken?" Bellamy asks, holding up two sandwiches.

"Chicken," Clarke tells him, though she doesn't really care either way. He hands her the sandwich and starts unwrapping his own. He looks at Clarke, frowning at her as she cradles her sandwich. She bites her lip.

"Are you okay?" Bellamy asks. "You're acting weird."

The truth is, Clarke can't help but think that this whole thing feels like… well, a date. And she knows it's not, because she has a boyfriend and Bellamy doesn't want her like that anyway. It's just sex and friendship. But she's never been on a picnic with someone who was a just a friend before. Friend stuff is going to the movies, or going to brunch, or going to a bar for a drink. And then as she imagines doing any of those things with Bellamy, she realises they would feel like dates too.

Does she _want_ to be on a date with him?

"I'm fine," Clarke says, clearing her throat. "Just thinking about how I would have put on underwear if I knew we weren't having sex."

Bellamy laughs. "I like it when you don't wear underwear."

"Do you say that to all your friends?"

"Good point," Bellamy says. "Comment retracted. I'm not thinking about your underwear or the fact that you aren't wearing any."

"Is that so? What are you thinking about then?"

"I'm thinking about how I wish you picked ham," Bellamy grins. Clarke laughs and hands her sandwich over.

She relaxes a little then, and manages to enjoy her lunch and the company without dwelling too much on how it makes her feel. She doesn't, however, manage to stop herself from thinking about him putting his mouth on her.

They finish eating, and Bellamy packs the rubbish and leftovers back into the basket.

"I'm not ready to go home yet," Clarke tells him. Wells is probably wondering where she is. She hasn't checked her phone since she got out of the car. She doesn't really care.

"We could walk around the lake," Bellamy suggests. Clarke screws up her nose. "Or… take a nap?"

"Nap sounds good," Clarke grins. She lies down, and Bellamy does the same. He scoots closer to her, lying on his side, his body only just touching hers. She can feel his erection pressing against her thigh, and she feels her pussy throb.

"This doesn't feel very friend-like," she murmurs.

"Well, we managed to get through a whole lunch without touching each other."

"Does it count if I was thinking about you fucking me the whole time?"

"I fucking hope so," Bellamy says. "Cause that's all I was thinking about too."

He lifts his hand, watching her as he brushes his fingers up her thigh. She doesn't stop him. He traces circles on her inner thigh, higher and higher, under her skirt, stopping just before he reaches her sopping cunt. Clarke gives him a pained look. The tension between her legs is almost unbearable.

"Bell," she whispers. "Touch me, please," he begs. "You promised you'd go down on me."

Bellamy considers. "I did promise that. But that was Friday."

"So haven't I waited long enough?"

Bellamy smirks at her. "You want me to eat you out right here?" he asks. "Where anyone could walk past and see us?"

Clarke nods and Bellamy's smug look grows. The thought of someone seeing them only makes her want it more. Of course, he knows that.

He glances towards the track to make sure no one is passing by, then he lifts her skirt, bunching it up around her waist so that her bare pussy is on display. He slides his middle finger between her lips, only making Clarke more aware of how wet she is. Bellamy presses his lips against her neck, and then her shoulder, his finger just resting inside her, not moving. Clarke whines, lifting her hips, needing some friction.

Bellamy chuckles. "I love how horny you get for me," he says quietly. He moves his hand from her legs and uses it to push her top up, revealing her flimsy bra. Bellamy pulls the cups down easily, letting her tits spring free. Clarke blushes, feeling totally exposed, out here in the forest. Half of her hopes no one will walk past, and half of her is desperate for someone to see her like this with Bellamy.

Bellamy sits up, pushing himself over the top of her, straddling her body with his without actually touching her. He brings his mouth down on her nipple, circling the hardened peak with his tongue, massaging the other with one hand. As much as she loves it when he plays with her tits, it's not what she really wants.

" _Bellamy_ ," she complains.

"Sorry, baby," he says. Her clit twinges, and she hopes he doesn't notice how much she likes it when he calls her that. So not appropriate for whatever they are to each other. "I just can't help myself."

He trails kisses down her bare stomach, finally pressing his lips against her shaved mound, just above her slit, and Clarke subconsciously holds her breath in anticipation. He pauses a moment, and then Clarke feels his tongue glide along her slit from her ass to her clit, and she squeezes her eyes shut. He teases her clit with the tip of his tongue, and Clarke writhes beneath him, despite her best efforts to remain still. Her fingers curl into his hair, and he licks her slit again, before delving his tongue inside her, deep as he can get it. Clarke moans, arching up against him, pushing his face harder against her pussy.

The sensation of his tongue inside her winds her tighter and tighter, until she's whimpering, panting heavily, desperate for release. He brings his mouth to her clit again, and she breaks as he sucks it into his mouth, crying out with her long-awaited orgasm.

But god, as good as it is, it's still not enough. It's never enough when it comes to Bellamy.

"Fuck me," Clarke begs, and she's well aware how wrecked she sounds already. "Fuck me with your cock, Bell."

"You sure?" he asks, lifting his head. Clarke looks down at him, nodding.

"I need you," she says. Bellamy only half suppresses a groan, and then he's up on his knees, undoing his jeans and pulling out his engorged cock. Clarke salivates at the sight of it. She spreads her legs wider, and Bellamy presses the head to her entrance, not bothering to take his pants all the way off. Clarke wraps her legs around him tightly, and he sinks into her. He stretches her wide, her eyes rolling back as he fills her.

"Oh god," she moans. "I love your cock."

"I know you do, baby. I love the way you take my cock. You feel so good," he murmurs. Clarke is almost having trouble breathing.

"Fuck me," she says again, since he seems to have forgotten why his cock is inside her. "Make me come."

"So needy," he chuckles, but he obliges her, rocking his hips against her, ramming his cock into her over and over until she loses her mind. Her tits jiggle with every thrust, and she knows Bellamy is watching them. It only turns her on more.

She has no concern for whether anyone might walk past anymore. They could be in the middle of a crowded street and she'd still beg him to keep going. All that matters is his cock inside her, driving her closer and closer to the orgasm she's chasing.

"Someone's coming," Bellamy tells her, stopping.

"Not yet," Clarke whines. Bellamy laughs. God, how can he laugh at a time like this?

"Not me," he clarifies. "I can hear voices."

Now that he mentions it Clarke can hear them too.

"I'm so close," Clarke tells him. "Please."

"You want them to see?

She hesitates. "No." After all, it could be anyone. They might call the cops on the two of them.

"You think you get there before they do?"

"Uh huh."

"Okay," he says. He quickly pulls her top back down to cover her tits. A precaution, Clarke supposes. And then he resumes his motions, and Clarke is right back there on the edge. She fists her hand in his shirt, closing her eyes.

" _Yes, yes, yes_ ," she chants, her voice cracking as she comes again, shuddering beneath him, her pussy clenching down on his cock. He pulls out and turns away just as a couple of women and a dog round the bend, and Clarke yanks her skirt down over her swollen pussy.

The women spare them a glance and a half smile, and Clarke smiles back, wondering if it's obvious that she's just been fucked into oblivion. She grabs Bellamy as soon as the women are gone, and he turns back around to face her.

He still has his cock out, bulging and covered in her come. Clarke leans down, taking him into her mouth, and it doesn't take her long to bring him over the edge, spurting his come into her mouth with a strangled moan.

He drags her up to his mouth, and she barely has time to swallow before he's kissing her messily, and she can taste her own come and his on her tongue.

She pulls away, and he's staring at her, almost like he can't quite believe she's real.

"What?" she laughs, feeling a little shy all of a sudden, despite what they'd just done.

"I—" he shakes his head. He shrugs. "You're amazing."

Clarke shoves him playfully. "Don't be such a sap."

Bellamy shakes his head, smiling. "Ready to go now?"

Clarke nods, and they pack up the basket and the blanket and head back to the car. Clarke isn't entirely sure they achieved what Bellamy wanted them to achieve, but this was much more satisfying. And friendship is totally overrated anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

It's a normal shitty Monday. Clarke wakes up early, but she's five minutes late to work anyway, because she spends way too long in the shower. She doesn't have time to buy a coffee or make one at home, so she makes one at work and it's awful. She can't be bothered doing any work so she plays games on her phone all morning, only putting it away when Diyoza walks by.

She gets a text from Wells just before lunch.

\- **_I might have to work late tomorrow night so we should go out for lunch instead._**

Clarke screws up her nose. _Why?_ He works late all the time and he never suggests having lunch together. Unless… it's a special occasion?

Clarke checks the date on her phone. Fuck. Her stomach drops. Tomorrow is his birthday. She'd completely forgotten. She hasn't even bought him a present.

It's the kind of thing she'd normally tell Octavia or Raven, and they'd give her ideas on what to get him. (What does one get their boyfriend who they're secretly cheating on and might also have forgotten their birthday?) Instead, she finds herself tapping on Bellamy's name.

\- **_I completely forgot it's Wells's birthday tomorrow. I'm a terrible girlfriend._**

She hits send, and her stomach immediately churns in regret. Is it really appropriate to be texting Bellamy about this? She's not sure what came over her.

But his response is almost instantaneous.

\- **_Yeah, cause that's the worst thing you've done to him lately._**

Clarke flushes, but she finds herself grinning. She immediately taps out a reply.

\- **_What should I get him? What do guys like?_**

\- **_Sexy lingerie_**

Clarke snorts. Of course Bellamy would suggest that. Another message comes through before she can respond.

\- **_Actually, scratch that. He won't appreciate it like I would. Get him a tie. Or socks._**

\- **_Very personal gift ideas_**

\- **_You're the one asking the guy you're secretly fucking what you should buy for your boyfriend. Shouldn't you know him better than anyone?_**

\- **_He's very hard to buy for!_**

\- **_He hasn't mentioned anything lately? Given any hints?_**

Clarke bites her lip. She honestly wouldn't know. She hasn't exactly spoken to him a lot this past week. Sure, he was away. But did they bother to call each other every day? Or even one of the days?

Apparently she's taking to long to reply, because Bellamy sends another message.

\- **_What about a book?_**

\- **_I'm not buying a present for you, remember?_**

\- **_Everyone likes books. I can give you recommendations._**

\- **_Okay, shoot._**

He starts sending through recommendations, and it doesn't take long for Clarke to forget what the recommendations are actually _for._ She puts all his recommendations on her to read list, and then sends through some recommendations of her own. Most of which he's already read. He works in a library after all.

She ends up texting him all day, barely getting any work done. The weirdest part is neither of them mentions sex at all. It's just a normal conversation. Almost like they _are_ actually friends after all.

She's still texting him when Wells gets home from work, half an hour after she does. She's smiling like an idiot at her phone, Bellamy having just cracked an unfunny joke, and she barely notices Wells walk into the room.

"What's so funny?" Wells asks. Clarke looks up from her phone as Wells joins her on the couch.

"Oh, uh… just a meme. You wouldn't get it," she shrugs.

"It's not my fault that memes don't make any sense," Wells huffs. Clarke puts her phone face down against her chest. She gives Wells an affectionate pat on the arm.

"I know, babe," she says.

Wells rolls his eyes. "So, lunch tomorrow?" he asks, reminding Clarke that she'd never actually replied to his text. Or bought him a present, for that matter.

"Of course," Clarke says. "I, uh… I haven't bought you anything," she admits.

"Oh good, so you were listening," Wells says.

"Huh?"

"When I said we should start saving more money and not spending it on things we don't need," Wells reminds her.

"Right, of course. Yes!" Clarke grasps eagerly at his words. She's off the hook. "I thought I'd cook you a nice breakfast instead."

Wells leans over to kiss her softly. "Sounds great." He heaves himself off the couch. "I'm going to take a shower."

Clarke nods, and hurriedly checks her phone as soon as he's gone. She's disappointed to find Bellamy hasn't replied yet.

Her phone doesn't buzz again until she's in bed, Wells scrolling on his phone beside her.

\- **_Sorry, Octavia came over unannounced. Typical._**

Clarke smiles, then quickly glances at Wells to make sure he's preoccupied.

\- **_It's okay. I'm going to sleep now though._**

\- **_Me too. Goodnight, Princess x_**

\- **_Night Bell xx_**

* * *

Clarke makes breakfast for Wells the next morning, as promised, and they manage to squeeze in a lunch together on their lunch hour. He works late, as expected, and while she's home alone, Clarke finds herself texting Bellamy again.

\- **_You know what show is overrated? Game of Thrones._**

\- **_All TV shows are overrated_**

\- **_Even The Bachelor?_**

\- **_Especially The Bachelor_**

\- **_I know you secretly love it_**

\- **_Are you with Wells right now?_**

\- **_No_**

Her phone starts ringing, Bellamy's name on the screen.

"I hate texting," Bellamy explains when she picks up.

"You texted me all day yesterday," Clarke points out.

"I did."

There's a beat as Clarke digests this information. "What are you doing?" she asks.

"Just relaxing."

Clarke chews her lip. "What are you wearing?"

Bellamy laughs, and Clarke feels her insides turn to mush. "Just sweatpants," he tells her. "What are _you_ wearing?"

"My work clothes," Clarke says.

"Sexy."

"I wish I was with you," Clarke murmurs.

Bellamy hesitates. "Yeah? Why's that?"

"I want you to fuck me," Clarke tells him. Which is true. But she weirdly kind of misses him too.

"You want to come over?"

Clarke shakes her head against the phone. "I can't. I don't know when Wells will be home. It's his birthday."

"How bout you touch yourself for me then?" Bellamy suggests, though it's more of a command than a suggestion. One Clarke happily obeys. She slides her hand into her panties. The sound of his voice has her wet already.

"Tell me what to do," Clarke whispers.

"Take your clothes off," Bellamy growls. "I want you naked."

Clarke hastily obeys, putting her phone down and putting him on speaker so she can unbutton her top and pull her skirt off. She removes her bra and panties, the underwear joining the rest of her clothes on the floor.

"Okay," she says. "I'm naked."

"Play with your tits for me, baby," Bellamy says. "Get those pretty nipples all hard."

Clarke does as he says, twisting her nipples with her fingers.

"I wish it was your mouth," Clarke complains.

"Me too, Princess," Bellamy says. "I want to suck on your nipples, make you moan." She moans. "Yeah, like that."

"Are you wet?" Bellamy asks. "Touch yourself, tell me if you're wet."

"I'm wet," Clarke tells him. She doesn't have to touch herself to know, but she does anyway.

"Where are you? Bed?"

"I'm on the couch," Clarke says.

"Lie back," Bellamy tells her. "Spread your legs. Get your fingers all wet."

Clarke spreads her legs, sliding two fingers along her slit, coating them in her juices. Her clit throbs, desperate to be touched.

"Bell," she whines.

"Go on, touch yourself," Bellamy says, knowing exactly what she wants. "Play with your clit."

She circles her clit with her fingers, moaning softly. She's aware that Wells could come home at any moment and see her fingering herself to the sound of Bellamy's voice. The thought only spurs her on. Her cunt pulses, achingly empty.

"I need something inside me," Clarke pants. "Your cock."

"Believe me, I want that too," Bellamy rasps. "You got a dildo?"

"No."

"Vibrator?"

"Uh-uh."

"No toys?"

"No," Clarke huffs.

"Clarke," Bellamy says, sounding disappointed with her. "Why not?"

"I don't know," she says. "I used to have a dildo before Wells and I moved in together. I thought it would be weird if he found it."

"Wells is an idiot," Bellamy snorts. "Have you even had an orgasm in the last three years? Before me, I mean?"

" _Bellamy,_ " she groans. Why he even remembers how long she and Wells have been living together she can't fathom, but this really isn't the time. "Would you shut up, _please_?"

"Sorry," Bellamy says, sounding sheepish. "You'll have to just use your fingers, baby. How many can you fit in your pussy?"

"Two, I think," Clarke says, her breathing laboured as she curls a finger inside herself, and then another. "It's not enough," she whines. Her fingers aren't long enough. They don't feel the way Bellamy feels inside her.

It doesn't matter anyway, because she hears the key in the lock in the front door, and she knows Wells is home. She sits bolt upright, panicked.

"I have to go," she mutters to Bellamy, and quickly ends the call. She's still naked on the couch when Wells walks into the room. He stares at her, eyes wide.

"Happy birthday?" she says.

Wells seems pleased with his surprise birthday present. But even after Bellamy got her all warmed up, Wells still can't make her come.

* * *

Bellamy has apparently decided he's having a Scrabble night. Clarke can't help but roll her eyes when she reads the message inviting her. She shakes her head, smiling. What a giant dork.

Wells says he's busy, but Clarke doesn't know if he's _actually_ busy, or if he's just invented something so that he doesn't have to go and play Scrabble with Bellamy.

Clarke calls Bellamy on her way home from work on the day of said Scrabble night.

"What does one wear to a Scrabble night?" she asks. "And do I need to bring anything?"

"Don't bring anything, and you can wear whatever you like. You're the only one coming," Bellamy tells her.

"Oh. Sorry. Everyone else busy?"

"I guess so," Bellamy says. He doesn't sound too upset about it though.

"Well, in that case…" Clarke says coyly. "I don't think I'll be the only one coming, if you catch my drift."

Bellamy gives a snort of laughter. "I'll see you tonight, Clarke."

Clarke smiles as she hangs up, pulling her keys out of her bag and heading into her apartment. She goes straight to the shower, and by the time she gets out, Wells is home.

"Hey," she greets him, wandering into the bedroom in a towel, Wells buttoning up a clean shirt. "Don't forget I'm going to Bellamy's Scrabble thing tonight."

"I'm going out for drinks with some of the guys from work," Wells tells her. "Just getting changed."

"Okay," Clarke nods. She hesitates. "Um. I'll probably have a few drinks at Bellamy's. I might end up staying the night."

"Okay, sure," Wells nods. He finishes buttoning his shirt and gives her a quick kiss. "I'll see you tomorrow then." And then he's gone, leaving Clarke to get ready in peace.

She takes care in picking her outfit, going with a short skirt but a fairly modest sweater. Panties, but no bra. And heels. Because why the fuck not. They make her legs look great.

She's early, but she figures it doesn't matter when she's the only one going now anyway. Bellamy answers the door wet and shirtless, a towel slung low on his hips. Clarke has to restrain herself from licking his chest right then and there.

Bellamy's eyes trail down her body, lingering slightly on her tits and then her legs. "I feel underdressed," he says, letting Clarke inside.

"Well go and put some clothes on so I can kick your ass at Scrabble," Clarke tells him. "We are playing Scrabble, right? This wasn't some elaborate ploy to get me into bed?"

"I don't need an elaborate ploy to get you into bed," Bellamy smirks.

Clarke presses a finger to his chest, tapping him lightly. "Bellamy Blake," she chides. "Are you calling me easy?"

"Definitely not," Bellamy murmurs, putting his hand over her finger and flattening her hand against his chest. Clarke leans in and presses her lips to his chest. She loves the way his breath hitches when she sucks against his skin.

She pulls away. "Go and put some clothes on," she tells him. Bellamy shakes his head as he heads to his bedroom, and Clarke goes to the kitchen to fix them some drinks. There's wine in the fridge and she pours two large glasses. Bellamy returns, dressed in a form fitting t-shirt and jeans, and holding a battered old edition of Scrabble.

They set the game up on the floor in the living room, despite the fact that there's a perfectly good table only a few metres away. Clarke kicks her heels off and sits cross-legged on the carpet across the board from Bellamy.

She takes a sip of her wine. "Okay," she decides. "If you win, you get to fuck me however you like."

"And if you win?"

"You get to fuck me however _I_ like."

"Sounds fair."

Bellamy, as it turns out, is unfairly good at Scrabble. Must come from working with books. As much as Clarke doesn't care whether she gets fucked his way or her way, she's still competitive as hell, and she doesn't like losing. And it's becoming increasingly obvious that she's losing. There's only one thing for it.

"It's kind of hot in here, isn't it?" she says innocently.

"You want me to turn the cooler on?"

"No, it's okay, I'll just take this off," she says, pulling her sweater over her head. Bellamy doesn't notice for a moment, too busy staring at his tiles, but then he looks up, and his mouth falls open at the sight of her bare tits. It gets her hot, knowing that even after all the times he's fucked her, her tits still leave him speechless.

"Oops," Clarke shrugs. "I guess I forgot I wasn't wearing anything underneath."

"Clarke," Bellamy says, his voice strangled. "You wouldn't be trying to use your body as a way of distracting me so that I lose at Scrabble, would you? Because that would be cheating."

"But is it working?" She already knows it is, from the way he's staring at her now, his mouth practically watering at the sight of her.

His eyes flick back up to hears. "You know it is."

"Come here and suck my nipples like I know you want to," Clarke says. Bellamy doesn't need to be told twice. He shoves the Scrabble board out of the way, scattering tiles all over the floor. Then his hands are on her waist, big and hot against her skin. It hasn't even been a week since he touched her last, but she's been craving him constantly.

His lips descend on her neck, and he lays her down on the carpet, kissing her collarbone, her chest, her breast. He flicks a nipple with his tongue, cupping her tits in his hands and then sucking the nipple into his mouth. He pops the nipple out of his mouth and turns his attention to the other one, using his fingers to twist and play with the newly abandoned nipple. She can feel her cunt throb with every flick of his tongue.

"I think this means I won," Clarke gasps. Bellamy lifts his head to look at her, one eyebrow raised.

"Is that right?"

"Uh huh."

"And how do you want it?"

Clarke catches her bottom lip between her teeth, already turning red, and she hasn't even said the words yet. Bellamy tilts his head, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"What is it, Princess?"

"Will you… finger my ass again?" she finally manages, and Bellamy couldn't look more pleased with himself.

"You liked that, did you?" he says, smug as hell. Clarke nods, her face burning. She's been thinking about it since the first time he did it, too embarrassed to ask him to do it again, hoping he'd suggest it. But fuck it, she wants it.

Bellamy sits up on his knees. "Roll over then," he tells her. Clarke obliges, rolling over onto her tummy, her tits squashed against the floor. She lifts her hips as Bellamy drags her skirt down her legs, and then her panties, discarding them who knows where.

Clarke looks over her shoulder, making eye contact with Bellamy as he presses two fingers to her slit and lets them disappear into her wet folds. She bites her lip, every nerve in her body on edge at his touch.

"Gotta get my fingers nice and wet for you," Bellamy tells her, and she nods. It doesn't take much for him to get his fingers coated in her juices, and then he's spreading her ass cheeks, giving him access to her asshole. Clarke whimpers as he presses his index finger against her opening, feeling another gush of wetness between her legs at the thought of what he's about to do to her.

His slick finger pushes into her tight hole, his first knuckle, then the second, then all the way in. Clarke moans as his finger stretches her ass. God, it feels so fucking good inside her.

"How does that feel, baby?" Bellamy murmurs, wriggling his finger inside her.

Clarke squeezes her eyes shut, barely able to breathe. "So good, Bell. Oh my god."

"You think you can take another?"

"Yes."

She gasps as she feels the second finger press into her. Maybe she can't take it after all.

"Bell," she pants. "Oh my god."

"Should I stop?"

Clarke shakes her head. "No. Keep going."

Bellamy repositions himself so he's more beside her than behind her, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her shoulder. Clarke relaxes, and Bellamy continues to move his lips against her shoulder as his fingers fill her.

"Okay?" Bellamy asks.

"Yes. More than okay."

"Good."

He kisses her shoulder again, but his fingers remain still. Clarke squirms, her ass and pussy throbbing. She needs him to do something, or she's going to go crazy.

"Bell," she whines.

"Yeah?"

She squeezes her ass cheeks around his fingers, silently begging him to do something.

"What?" he chuckles. "You want something? Ask me."

"I already asked."

"Beg me."

Clarke groans. "Finger me, _please_ ," she begs. "Fuck my ass with your fingers."

"That's my girl," he croons, and then _finally_ he starts moving his fingers inside her, pumping them in and out of her ass. Clarke writhes against the carpet under his touch, the pressure between her legs building as he fingers her ass. She lifts her hips involuntarily, desperately needing more. She slides a hand between her legs, the pulsing of her clit too much to bear.

"No," Bellamy says. Clarke stays her hand, huffing in frustration. "You're going to come just from having your ass fingered, okay?"

"Okay," Clarke nods, her voice strained.

Bellamy's fingers work inside her, stretching her ass like she never knew she needed. He winds her tighter and tighter, and Clarke can feel herself getting close.

"Come on, baby, you're nearly there. You can do it."

"Uh huh," Clarke whimpers. "It feels so good. I wish it was your cock."

Bellamy chuckles. "I don't think you could handle that yet, baby."

He's probably right, but even just the thought of his cock in her ass drives her crazy, and that mixed with his voice, coaxing her on, is what sends her over the edge.

"Bell, I'm gonna come."

"I know."

Her ass clenches around his fingers and she cries out, her toes curling and her fingers fisting into the carpet as waves of pleasure roll over her. Bellamy extracts his fingers from her ass, wiping them on his shirt. He traces his lips over her bare back, letting her catch her breath, though Clarke knows his cock is probably aching from what he just did to her.

"How was that, princess?"

"Baby," Clarke corrects.

"Hm?"

"I like it better when you call me baby."

She turns to him and he smiles. "Okay, baby. How do you feel?"

"Amazing," Clarke smiles. But even still, she needs to feel his skin on her skin, feel his cock inside her. Needs to know she can do to him what he does to her. She rolls onto her side, facing him. She's totally naked while he's still completely clothed. He watches her, almost in awe, as she trails her fingers down his chest, down his stomach, the small patch of skin showing where his shirt has ridden up. Her hand cups the bulge in his jeans and his breath hitches. She likes that. She pushes him over onto his back, rolling on top of him, straddling him. He sits up, his fingers soft on her waist, and she leans in to kiss him deeply, her fingers tangling in his hair. They break apart and Clarke's hands drop to the hem of his shirt, and he helps her take it off.

She can feel his erection pressing against her, between her legs, and she can't resist grinding against him a little, making him gasp in surprise. But as much as she likes teasing him, she's too impatient to keep it up for long. She pushes him back down, and makes quick work of his jeans and underwear, letting his long, hard cock spring free. Her cunt pulses at the sight of it.

"I need you inside me," she tells him. Bellamy just nods, running his fingers up and down her side, sending tingles all through her body. She can tell he's getting desperate, she can see the anticipation in his eyes. She wants to make him beg for it, like he made her beg.

She settles herself back on top of him, his cock between her legs but not inside her. She lets the shaft slip between her wet pussy lips and he grips her legs so tightly she thinks he might leave bruises.

She rocks against him, revelling in the sound of his laboured breathing, knowing he's trying so hard to keep control. Her pussy is slick against his cock, and she slides against him, feeling the length of him against her clit.

"I think I could come again like this," Clarke tells him. Bellamy groans. "But I really want your cock inside me."

She lifts herself slightly, lining her entrance up with the bulging head of his cock, dripping with precum. She sinks onto him slowly, every inch of his cock stretching her further, until he's deep inside her cunt. His hands slide up her thighs to grip her hips. He's still staring at her like he can't quite believe she's real.

"Stop looking at me like that," she laughs. She leans down to capture his lips with hers, dragging her teeth along his bottom lip as she pulls away.

"Can I fuck you now?" Bellamy says hoarsely.

Clarke looks down at him, giving him her most sultry look. She shakes her head. " _I'm_ going to fuck _you_."

"God," Bellamy breathes.

Clarke rocks her hips against him, slowly, methodically, feeling his cock hit her sweet spot with every movement. Her eyes flutter closed and she picks up the pace slightly. She can feel her tits jiggle a little, and she smirks, knowing Bellamy will like that.

She sets out to take it slow, tease him, hold out on him. But the feel of his cock inside her is too much to bear, and she finds she can't hold back as much as she'd like. Rational thought leaves her, and her thrusts become more frantic, until she's bouncing on his cock, desperately chasing her orgasm.

"Fuck, Clarke," Bellamy moans. "You're gonna make me come."

"Good."

"Clarke. Clarke," Bellamy says, sounding absolutely ruined. Her name sounds so good when he says it like that. "You gotta slow down, baby. Or let me play with your clit."

"Uh-uh."

Bellamy groans dramatically, and his hips thrust up against her. Her walls clench around him and he moans again, gasping for air a second later. He's holding on as best he can, but Clarke knows he's close to losing it. It's exactly what she wants.

She slows down again, reverts to rolling her hips against him. He She leans down to kiss him again, and it's messy, desperate.

"It's okay," she whispers. "I want you to come," she tells him. Bellamy shakes his head.

"You. First."

Clarke kisses him again. "Come on, baby," she murmurs. And that's when he loses it, letting out a wrecked moan as he comes inside her. Clarke's own orgasm takes her by surprise, but something about his voice, his face contorted in ecstasy, the feeling of his cock spurting come inside her sends her over the edge, and she's coming along with him, almost silently.

Bellamy drags his hand down his face, clearly embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he whispers. "Let me—" he starts, already reaching for her clit.

"Bell, it's okay," she says. She's still lying on top of him, her breasts crushed against his chest, his cock soft inside her. "I came. I promise I came."

"You came?"

"Yes, baby," she whispers. Bellamy flushes at the sound of the pet name. Clarke eyes him in amusement. "Do you like it when I call you baby?"

He looks at her a moment before he nods earnestly.

"You're so cute," she tells him.

Bellamy raises an eyebrow. "Cute, huh?"

"So cute."

"I got you a present," Bellamy says.

"A present?"

"Yeah," Bellamy grins. "It's a dildo."

Clarke laughs, feeling the vibrations from her own laughter and his deep in her chest.

"So, are you going to use it on me or do I have to use it on myself?"

"I'd like to watch you," Bellamy murmurs. She feels his cock twitch inside her.

Clarke raises an eyebrow in interest. "Nearly ready to go again, are you?"

"Not quite," Bellamy laughs.

She gives him another kiss before she lifts herself off him, his cock sliding out of her, along with his come, sticky on her thighs. She makes for the bathroom to clean herself up, but before she makes it to the door, the buzzer for the front door goes off. She looks to Bellamy, but he seems just as confused as she is.

Bellamy gets up and walks over to the front door, naked, and presses the button to talk down to whoever's on the street. Clarke hovers, not sure if she should stay and listen or continue to the bathroom.

"Hello?" Bellamy says.

"Let me in," comes Octavia's voice. Clarke's eyes widen. She quickly makes a scramble for her clothes.

"What are you doing here?" Bellamy asks.

"I've come to play Scrabble. Since no one else wanted to."

"You hate Scrabble."

"Is that why you picked Scrabble? Because you know I hate it and you didn't want me to come?"

Bellamy glances at Clarke, a little sheepish. Perhaps this _was_ a ploy to get her into bed after all.

"No," Bellamy says to Octavia. Clarke pulls on her skirt, having already found her sweater and put that on.

"So let me in. Unless Scrabble was code for you have a girl over and you're both naked right now."

"Hilarious. Fine, come up," he sighs. He buzzes her up, then grabs his clothes and heads to the bathroom, presumably to clean the come off his dick. Clarke meanwhile, is still on the hunt for her panties.

Bellamy returns just as Octavia starts hammering on the door.

"I can't find my panties," Clarke hisses.

"Too late now," Bellamy shakes his head. He goes to the door and opens it, letting Octavia inside.

"Finally," Octavia says, rolling her eyes dramatically. She stops short when she sees Clarke. Clarke does her best to look natural, but she's sure her guilt is written all over her face. "Clarke," Octavia says. "I didn't know you were here."

"Well… I am."

Octavia turns to Bellamy. "You said no one was coming."

Bellamy glances at Clarke. "I guess a couple of people did."

Clarke bites back her laughter. Octavia stares at the Scrabble tiles strewn across the floor.

"Clarke is a sore loser," Bellamy explains.

Octavia gives Bellamy a look of disdain. "I know. She's _my_ best friend, remember? Now are we playing Scrabble or what?"


	6. Chapter 6

Octavia pretty much sucks at Scrabble, a fact which Clarke had already known. Octavia isn't really one for sitting still for long periods of time, and she thinks board games are for nerds anyway.

"Why did you even come when you hate Scrabble so much?" Bellamy asks, exasperated, after Octavia has complained yet again that her letters are terrible and that they should make it more interesting by making up words.

"Because I felt sorry for you," Octavia huffs. "I thought you were moping by yourself because no one wanted to come and play this dumb game with you."

"Well, I appreciate it, but Clarke is here and she actually likes Scrabble, so you can go now."

Octavia squints at him. "I'm staying," she says adamantly.

Bellamy looks to Clarke, thoroughly unimpressed. Clarke averts her eyes before Octavia can catch the look between them. She's even more worried now that Octavia suspects something is up.

"It's getting late," Clarke says. "Maybe I should just go home."

Bellamy gives her a look of surprise. "You're not staying?"

Clarke glances at Octavia. She had been planning to stay, of course. But she hadn't exactly brought anything with her that would indicate to Octavia that she was staying. Pyjamas, for example.

"You should stay, Clarke," Octavia says.

"Where will I sleep?" She assumes Octavia will take the couch.

"You and I can sleep in Bell's bed and he can take the couch."

Bellamy rolls his eyes. "Great," he mutters. Clarke bites back a grimace. Not exactly what either of them had planned on.

"I didn't bring anything to sleep in."

"You can wear something of mine," Bellamy says. And yeah, okay, she likes the idea of that. Bellamy gets to his feet. "Come on, I'll find you something."

"I'll help," Octavia says, though her help is completely unnecessary.

Clarke follows Bellamy to his room, Octavia trailing behind them. Clarke can't help but feel uneasy. She can't tell if she's being paranoid, or if Octavia knows what's going on. And it's not like she can _ask_ her. She just has to wait until either Octavia accuses her of something, or the whole thing just blows over.

Octavia lounges on Bellamy's bed while he goes to the closet and pulls out a clean shirt for Clarke to wear. He hands her the shirt, and Clarke gives him a meaningful look, trying to silently tell him she needs something to wear on the bottom as well, seeing as she has temporarily misplaced her panties. Bellamy tilts his head, not understanding. Clarke glances over her shoulder at Octavia, who is currently distracted by her phone.

" _Underwear_ ," Clarke mouths at him. Bellamy raises an eyebrow, and then he gives her a smirk, though what he could possibly be smirking about Clarke doesn't know. Everything seems to have lost its humour after Octavia almost caught them. And there's still a good chance she knows exactly what's going on. Octavia's very presence has Clarke on edge.

Bellamy gets a pair of his boxers out of the top drawer of his dresser and hands them to Clarke.

"I'll let you get dressed then," he says, heading for the door. He gives her one last glance before shutting it behind him.

Clarke stands there for a moment, holding Bellamy's clothes in her arms. It occurs to her then that she can't very well get changed in front of Octavia. Under normal circumstances she wouldn't care, but she really doesn't want Octavia to know she isn't wearing a stitch of underwear right now. Plus, though she'd cleaned herself up a little earlier, before the second round of Scrabble, while Octavia was busy ordering pizza, Bellamy's come is still leaking out of her, and her thighs are sticky with it again now.

She heads to the bathroom instead, not bothering to tell Octavia, lest Octavia start asking unwanted questions. She locks the door and strips off, then uses a washer to clean her thighs and pussy, hoping that's the last of it. She slips Bellamy's shirt over her head, then pulls on his boxers, getting a sick thrill at the thought of wearing his underwear. Yeah, wearing his shirt is hot. But somehow, wearing his underwear is even hotter.

Clarke walks back to the living room, finding Bellamy alone on the couch reading. Octavia must still be in his room. She pads over to him, and he looks up, his eyes raking over her, taking her in.

"You look so fucking sexy in my clothes," he murmurs. He puts his book down and takes her hand, tugging her closer. He looks up at her, running his hands up the outside of her thighs. "In my underwear."

"Maybe you could wear mine sometime," Clarke smirks. She's half joking, but Bellamy raises an eyebrow at her in interest.

"You'd like that, would you?"

"Maybe. Would you?"

Bellamy considers. "If you liked it, I would like it."

Clarke grins. What she'd like more than anything right now is to slide onto his lap and grind against his bulge. Bellamy brings his hand between her legs, stroking her softly.

"Octavia might walk in," Clarke whispers. Bellamy sighs and drops his hands, and Clarke can't help but feel disappointed. She bites her lip. "Do you think she suspects something?"

Bellamy considers. "Even if she does, she's got no proof. So if she asks, just lie."

Clarke nods. "Goodnight." She wants to lean down and kiss him, but she doesn't want to risk getting caught.

"Goodnight, Clarke."

Octavia is in bed when Clarke returns to the bedroom. She looks up from her phone when Clarke enters the room, but she doesn't say anything. Clarke crawls into bed beside her, and Octavia puts her phone down, turning on her side to face Clarke.

"So you're suddenly really into Scrabble, are you?" Octavia asks.

Clarke does her best to keep her face impassive. "I've always enjoyed board games."

"Right."

Clarke huffs. "If you've got something to say, just say it."

"Something is going on with you and my brother. I don't know if you're sleeping together or just flirting or what, but it's something."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Why are you spending so much time alone with him lately?"

"I spend time alone with you. I spend time alone with Raven. It's called being friends," Clarke says. Octavia isn't convinced.

"Uh huh, and you always wear _my_ underwear too," Octavia says pointedly.

"It's just clothes, Octavia."

"It's weird. Unless you're sleeping together, it's weird. Even then it's still kind of weird."

"It's not that weird."

Octavia narrows her eyes. "Clarke," she says firmly. "I'm just going to ask you once, and whatever you tell me, I'll believe you, so you better tell me the truth. Are you cheating on Wells with Bellamy?"

Clarke looks Octavia dead in the eye. "No."

Octavia eyes her suspiciously for a moment, then seems to decide she's telling the truth. Clarke tries not to seem too relieved.

"Well. Good then," Octavia says. She doesn't apologise for her accusation, and Clarke doesn't bother trying to make her. Octavia seems about to say something else, like there's something else bothering her. But then she just says, "Goodnight. Don't snore," and rolls over onto her other side.

"Goodnight," Clarke mutters in return.

* * *

Clarke sleeps restlessly, perhaps plagued by Octavia's suspicions, or perhaps just annoyed that she has to sleep next to Octavia instead of Bellamy. And if she thinks she's going to get any alone time with Bellamy in the morning, she's sorely mistaken.

Octavia, normally a late sleeper, is already up when Clarke wakes up. Clarke follows the sound of voices to the kitchen, where Bellamy and Octavia appear to be making breakfast.

"Good morning," Bellamy says, oddly chirpy for someone who slept on a too small couch last night. "Want some bacon and eggs?"

"Yeah, okay," Clarke agrees.

The three of them eat together, sitting around Bellamy's small dining table, and while Bellamy seems perfectly happy, Octavia is pretty silent the whole meal. Clarke can't help but wonder if she's still harbouring some suspicions about Clarke and Bellamy's relationship.

Clarke is kind of hoping that after breakfast Octavia will leave, but instead she curls up on the couch and puts the TV on. Clarke sighs, looking to Bellamy, who rolls his eyes.

"I guess I should go," Clarke says.

"You don't have to."

"No, I should."

"Okay."

Clarke heads to the bedroom and puts her clothes from last night back on, leaving Bellamy's clothes folded on his bed. When she returns, Octavia is on the floor, packing up the Scrabble from last night, and Bellamy is in the kitchen washing dishes. Clarke walks up behind him and wraps her arms around him, taking the short opportunity to be close to him while Octavia is out of the room.

"You really don't have to go. Octavia will leave eventually," Bellamy says.

"She asked me last night if we were sleeping together," Clarke murmurs, her head pressed against his back. "I convinced her she was wrong, but I don't need her getting any more suspicious."

"Okay," Bellamy says. He loosens her arms around him so he can turn around and face her.

"Can I have a goodbye kiss?"

Bellamy smiles, leaning down to kiss her, slowly, sweetly. She wants to melt into him. They break apart and Clarke steps back, putting a respectable distance between them. Bellamy's still smiling, and Clarke can't help but smile back.

The door to the kitchen opens, and the both turn their heads to see Octavia stepping into the room, holding up a pair of lacy black underwear between her fingers. The smile instantly drops from Clarke's face, and her stomach sinks.

"Tell me these aren't yours," Octavia says to Clarke.

"I—" Clarke starts.

"They're not hers," Bellamy says quickly. "Must be the girl I had over last weekend."

"Oh really? What was her name?"

"Can't remember."

Octavia turns her attention back to Clarke, clearly not convinced, and clearly pissed off. "Prove it."

"What?"

"Prove to me that these aren't yours, and I'll never say anything about it again."

"How?"

"Show me your underwear."

"O—" Bellamy tries to interrupt, but Octavia isn't having any of it. Clarke's face is bright red, and she's pretty sure there's no way out of it.

"Clarke," Octavia says firmly. "All you have to do is show me the waistband of the underwear you're wearing _right now_ , and I'll know that this is all just a big misunderstanding."

Clarke stares at Octavia, her face burning, words failing her. Instead, she steps forward and snatches the panties from Octavia's hand, her face burning. "Fine," she snaps. "You were right. We're sleeping together, are you happy?"

A look of surprise flits across Octavia's face, just for a moment, as if she wasn't really expecting Clarke to admit it. Then her mouth forms a thin line, unimpressed and disapproving.

"I want to talk to you alone," she says to Clarke.

"O—" Bellamy tries again.

"You're next," Octavia snaps at him. Octavia grabs Clarke's wrist and drags her out of the kitchen and into Bellamy's bedroom. Once the door is shut behind them, Octavia turns on Clarke.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Clarke is already in full defence mode. "Look, I'm sorry I lied to you but—"

"This isn't about you lying to me. That's whatever. This is about you _cheating on your boyfriend with my brother_."

Clarke winces.

"How long has this been going on?"

Clarke sighs. She figures there's no point in lying now. Talking about it with Octavia may even help her clear her head. "Since your birthday party."

"My birthday party? When you kissed him in spin the bottle?"

Clarke nods shortly. "I didn't mean for it to go this far! I just can't seem to stop."

"Well it has to. God, Clarke. I didn't think _you_ of all people would be a cheater."

"Don't say it like that."

"Well, it's true."

Clarke flushes, knowing Octavia is right. "Whatever," she mutters.

"So are you going to end it?" Octavia presses.

Clarke shakes her head slowly. "No."

"What the fuck, Clarke? Are you insane? Why not?"

"Because!" Clarke snaps. "It's nice to be wanted by two people. I've got the best of both worlds. Amazing sex and a great boyfriend who loves me."

"You shouldn't need two different guys for that," Octavia snorts.

"Don't judge me," Clarke huffs. "You don't get it. Wells just can't do to me what Bellamy does to me."

Octavia screws up her nose at that. "Ew. I really don't want to know that. But if Wells isn't giving you what you need… then end it with him."

"What?"

"End it with Wells. Be with Bellamy."

Clarke hesitates. The thought has never occurred to her before. "Bellamy isn't the boyfriend type."

"What? Bellamy isn't good enough to be your boyfriend?" Octavia snarls, getting defensive on her brother's behalf.

"That's not what I meant!" Clarke groans, frustrated. "I just mean… I don't remember the last time he had a girlfriend. I don't think I've ever seen him date someone for more than a couple of months."

Octavia rolls her eyes dramatically. "That's because—" she cuts herself off. Clarke waits for her to continue. "Because he hasn't found the right person," Octavia finishes.

"I'm hardly the right person."

"How do you know?"

Clarke sighs. "Because I love Wells. I want to be with Wells. This is just… it's just a phase or something. I'm not going to throw away a seven-year relationship on a phase."

Octavia shakes her head, clearly upset. "You're an idiot if you think this is going to end well."

"Just don't tell anyone, please?"

Octavia lets out a short, humourless laugh. "Whatever you want, Clarke. You should probably go now. I need to talk to Bellamy."

"Fine," Clarke mutters. "Just let me put my underwear back on."

Bellamy is waiting anxiously in the living room when Clarke and Octavia come out of the bedroom. He stands up, and Clarke wants to go to him, but she doesn't know what's appropriate now that Octavia is around. Instead she makes for the door, grabbing her purse from the floor by the couch as she passes.

"Clarke—" Bellamy says.

"It's okay," she assures him. She glances at Octavia. "I'll call you later."

* * *

"How was Scrabble?" Wells asks when Clarke gets home. "Did you win?"

"Nope," Clarke sighs. "But at least I did better than Octavia."

"Well, that's the important thing," Wells grins. Clarke smiles back. She studies him for a moment, sitting there on the couch, on she feels her heart squeeze. She does still love him, then. And she hates what she's doing to him. And she swears she'll end it with Bellamy eventually. Probably. Just not yet.

Clarke takes a shower, then retreats to the bedroom, dialling Bellamy's number.

"Hey," he answers.

"Hey," Clarke murmurs, careful to keep her voice low, so that Wells doesn't overhear.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, are you?"

"Yeah."

"What did Octavia say?" Clarke asks.

"Doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything."

Clarke breathes a sigh of relief. "Okay, good. Do you think she'll tell?"

"I don't think so. She'll probably make snide comments about it when no one else is around though."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Clarke chuckles. The knots in her stomach unwind a little. They're still safe, for now. "I better go."

"Okay," Bellamy says. "I—" he stops. "I, uh… I'll see you."

"Um. Yeah," Clarke agrees. "Bye."

* * *

For Raven's birthday, they're all going out for drinks. It's been a couple of weeks since Octavia found out about Clarke's affair with Bellamy, and as far as Clarke can tell, nothing has changed. Octavia hasn't brought it up once.

Clarke has only seen Bellamy a couple of times in those two weeks, so she's hoping tonight they can find time to slip away unnoticed for half an hour or so. The thought of doing it right under Wells' nose gives her a little thrill.

She puts on a tight, low cut top, showing off way more cleavage than she usually would. She honestly doesn't even think Wells will notice, but when she walks out of the bedroom, dressed and ready, his eyes are focused on her chest.

"What?" she says, self-conscious suddenly.

"That's what you're wearing?"

"Um. Yes? What's wrong with it?"

"You know other people are going to be there right?" Wells says pointedly.

"They're just boobs, Wells," Clarke huffs.

"My girlfriend's boobs," Wells counters.

"So what?"

"So other men will look at you."

"Why do you care all of a sudden?" Clarke snaps. Wells is not the jealous type. He's never once mentioned that it concerns him that other men look at her before.

Wells sighs. "It's stupid," he says. "Octavia called me."

Clarke freezes. Obviously Octavia hasn't told Wells that she's cheating on him with Bellamy, or the conversation they're having would be much different. But what could she possibly have said to him?

"What did she say?" Clarke asks, her heart pounding.

"She said she thinks Bellamy might be into you."

Clarke scoffs. So Octavia couldn't get Clarke or Bellamy to end it of their own accord so she went to Wells instead.

"And you believed her?"

"Yeah, I mean," Wells shrugs. "It seems pretty obvious now I think about it. You've been spending a lot more time with him lately. Octavia said Bellamy was flirting with you at Scrabble night. And now you're wearing… that."

Clarke sighs. "Look, even if Bellamy is into me, which I don't think he is, that's got nothing to do with me. I'm not going to change what I'm wearing just because _you're_ uncomfortable with another man staring at my tits."

Wells flinches. "Right. You're right." He looks so ashamed that Clarke almost feels bad for a moment.

"Let's just go, okay?" she says gently. Wells nods. He holds out his hand and she takes it, and they head to the bar in an uber.

The others are all already there when Clarke and Wells arrive, squeezed into a booth at the back of the bar. Clarke's eyes are only on Bellamy as they approach the group. His gaze lands on her tits, and then he meets her eye, raising an eyebrow as he takes a sip of his beer. Yeah, he knows exactly why she's wearing a top like that.

Wells snakes his hand around Clarke's waist, and she knows he noticed Bellamy looking. They slide into the booth, Wells next to Monty and Clarke on the end, directly across from Bellamy. She glances at him and he's staring at her tits again. She leans forward so he can get a better view.

The booth is pretty squashed with eight people in it, and Clarke can't help but wish it was Bellamy's thigh pressed against her own, instead of Wells'. Maybe he'd squeeze her thigh with his big hand. Or better yet, slide his hand up her skirt and finger her under the table. Bellamy watches her, as if he knows exactly what she's thinking.

Wells arm drapes across Clarke's shoulder, and he presses a kiss to her cheek. Clarke smiles at him, and then looks over at Octavia, who's glaring at her disapprovingly. Clarke grabs the jug of Sangria from the middle of the table and pours herself a glass.

"Happy birthday, Raven!" she cheers, raising her glass.

"Happy birthday!" the others chorus, clinking their glasses with each other.

After her second glass of Sangria, Clarke starts to loosen up a little. Octavia stops glaring at her, and the mood around the table is mostly light and joyful. Clarke sinks into Wells embrace, and she kind of likes that he's much more affectionate than usual. Sure, it's probably for Bellamy's benefit, but it's nice all the same.

Bellamy on the other hand, doesn't seem too impressed. He's mostly silent as he sips his beer, his eyes watching every move of Wells' hand on Clarke's body. If Clarke didn't know better, she'd say he was jealous. Is it wrong if she kind of _wants_ him to be jealous?

"I'm getting another beer," he says, the first time he's spoken in ages. "Anyone want anything from the bar?"

"We need another jug of Sangria!" Raven tells him.

"I'll come," Octavia says, crawling over Shaw and Raven to get out and follow Bellamy to the bar. The conversation at the table continues as if Bellamy had never interrupted, but Clarke tunes out, unable to stop herself from watching Bellamy and Octavia as they talk at the bar. What Octavia is saying to him, Clarke doesn't know, but she seems pretty riled up about it. Bellamy is facing away from the table, so Clarke can't see his expression, but he's nodding. Clarke has the sinking feeling that Octavia is talking about _her_.

Clarke shakes her head, telling herself to get a grip. This paranoia she's constantly having is going to be the death of her. She has no reason to believe Octavia is talking about her. Clarke turns back to the conversation, trying to catch up with the story Jasper is telling.

When Octavia and Bellamy return to the table with the Sangria, Bellamy has gone from looking sullen to looking troubled. Clarke taps his leg with her foot and he looks up at her. She tilts her head, asking the silent question, _are you okay?_

Bellamy shrugs and takes a sip of his beer. Anxiety swirls in Clarke's stomach, though she can't even pinpoint why. She wants to drag Bellamy aside and find out what's up with him, but she can't risk Wells getting any more suspicious. Instead, she waits for Bellamy to finish his beer and head to the bar again.

She follows him, claiming she's sick of Sangria and wants something else.

"Hey," she says, leaning on the bar beside him. She glances back to the table. No one is watching them.

"Hey," Bellamy returns.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, of course."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely."

Clarke gives him a relieved smile. "Good," she says. She glances back at the table again before leaning into Bellamy, her smile turning flirtatious. "So, you should meet me in the men's room later. I need you inside me so bad."

Bellamy steps back a little, shaking his head. "I don't think so, Clarke."

"Oh," Clarke swallows, feeling like an idiot. "Is it the men's room? Because we can do it somewhere else."

"It's not that," Bellamy says. Clarke doesn't like his tone, serious and a little apologetic. His expression resigned. "I think maybe this thing has run its course."

Clarke swallows, dread filling her gut. "What are you saying?" she asks, though she understands perfectly what he's saying. She wishes she didn't.

"I'm saying… we should end this. Before someone gets hurt."

Clarke's throat goes tight, and she feels like she's been punched in the stomach. She wills her voice to stay even. "I thought you didn't care about Wells?"

Bellamy snorts humourlessly. "I don't."

"Well then who do you think is going to get hurt?" Clarke snaps, turning to anger rather than let him know that she's _already_ hurt. "Me?"

"I don't know, Clarke, I—" Bellamy groans.

"You think I'm in love with you or something?" she scoffs.

Bellamy's face hardens at that. The muscle in his jaw ticks. "No, Clarke," he says flatly. "I would never be so delusional as to think you might be in love with me," he says scornfully.

"So what then?"

"It's just—it's wrong, Clarke. You know that. I don't want to do it anymore. I know you thought you'd be the one who ended it, and I get why you're annoyed. But I don't want to be your dirty laundry anymore," Bellamy says.

"That's it then?" Clarke asks, and if Bellamy notices the way her voice trembles, he doesn't show it.

"Yeah."

Clarke stares at him, not knowing what else to say, until the bartender asks them what they want.

Bellamy turns to the bartender. "You know, I think I'm just going to go home," he says. And then he brushes past Clarke towards the exit, leaving her there by the bar to process what had just happened. She looks back to the table where her friends and boyfriend are laughing, totally oblivious to the exchange that had just taken place between her and Bellamy.

She feels sick all of a sudden, and she doesn't think she can face going back to the table just yet. She strides towards the bathroom instead, emotion bubbling up inside her, threatening to burst out. She locks herself in a stall, and that's when her tears start to spill. She sobs raggedly, leaning against the stall door, face in her hands.

She doesn't even know why she's crying. It's so stupid. So her fling with Bellamy is over, so what? She always knew it couldn't last forever. So why does this feel like a break up? Why does she feel hollow inside, like she's lost something? Why does her heart fucking _ache_?

Someone raps on the stall door, and Clarke chokes back another sob. She wipes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

Octavia's voice comes through the door. "Clarke, are you in there?"

"I'll be out in a minute," Clarke says, her voice surprisingly even.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I think I just drank too much."

"What happened to Bellamy?"

Clarke's bottom lip trembles, and she has to give herself a second before she answers, or she knows she'll start crying again. "He had to go."

"Okay."

"You'll be happy to know that it's over between us."

Octavia hesitates. "Good." She pauses. "I'll see you back out there?"

"Yes. I'll be right out."

Clarke waits for Octavia to leave before she opens the stall door. She stares at her face in the mirror for a moment, red, blotchy and tear-streaked. She runs her hands under the tap and pats her face with cold water. Her make up has looked better, but she doesn't think it's totally obvious she's been crying.

She takes a deep breath, telling herself he just took her by surprise. The guilt finally hit her, maybe. That's why she's crying. She'll wake up tomorrow and be totally fine. Just like he will be. It will be like it never happened.


	7. Chapter 7

"Hey, are you okay?" Wells asks, sitting across the table from Clarke as she absently pushes her peas around her plate with a fork. Clarke looks up from her plate, remembering that he's there all of a sudden.

"I'm fine," Clarke tells him. "Why do you ask?"

Wells gives her a look of concern. "You've barely touched your food."

Clarke pushes a mouthful of peas into her mouth to prove to him that she really is fine. Wells watches her as she chews and swallows the mouthful.

"Clarke," he pleads. "Talk to me. What's wrong?"

Clarke sighs. "Nothing, I swear," she tells him. "I guess I'm just not that hungry." She puts her fork down.

"It's not just that," Wells shakes his head. "Lately you've just seemed… I don't know. Sad."

Clarke twists her mouth and looks back down at her plate. She's surprised he's even noticed there's anything different with her. "I'm not sad," she tells him. "I guess I'm just in a weird slump or something. I'm supposed to get my period in a couple of days, maybe that's it."

"Oh, okay," Wells nods. He doesn't look totally convinced, but to his credit, he doesn't push it. Clarke gives him a reassuring smile, standing up and reaching across the table to pick up his empty plate.

"Thanks for cooking," she says, stacking his plate on top of her own and taking them to the kitchen. To her relief, he doesn't follow her, and she lets the tears spill from her eyes silently as she fills the sink with hot water.

It's been a week since her break up with Bellamy. God, can she even call it a break up? It's not like they were actually in a relationship. Whatever it was, she hasn't gotten over it as quickly as she'd hoped. She still feels like crying every time she thinks about him. Her heart aches constantly, even when she's _not_ thinking about him. And she misses him like crazy.

To make matters worse, she can't even _talk_ to anyone about how she's feeling. She can't tell Wells, for obvious reasons. She can't let Octavia know how much she's hurting, because she'll probably just say _I told you so_. And she sure as hell can't talk to Bellamy, the one person who she really _wants_ to talk to, because he's the one who ended it, and she'd look like a complete fool if she went crying to him now. She doesn't want to embarrass herself more than she already has.

He hasn't called her or messaged her since last week. Not that she expected him to. But so much for being friends. She doesn't even know how she could be friends with him after this. Not after she knows what he feels like inside her. Not after everything he did to her, everything he knows about her. She's pretty sure she won't ever be able to look at him without thinking about his mouth on her skin.

Clarke cries silently as she scrubs the dishes, attacking the plates harder than necessary with the dishcloth. She hears Wells walk in behind her, and she quickly wipes her eyes as he walks over to her, hoping he won't notice her tear streaked face. She can't hide it from him though, and then his arms are squeezing tightly around her, his head fitting into the crook of her neck. Clarke sobs loudly, and then she turns in his arms, pressing her face into his chest, letting his shirt soak up her tears. He doesn't try to pressure her into telling him what's wrong, or coax it out of her. Her just strokes her hair and lets her cry.

God, imagine if he knew she was crying about another man. A wave of guilt crashes over her then, the months of secrecy and lying and sneaking around finally catching up to her. She has truly been a terrible girlfriend. And at the same time, it finally hits her. If she really loved him, she wouldn't have done any of that. If she really loved him, she wouldn't be wishing it was Bellamy's arms around her, Bellamy's hand stroking her hair.

What's worse is she begins to question whether she _ever_ really loved him. At least, the way he wants to be loved, the way he _deserves_ to be loved. It had seemed so romantic, when she was eighteen and he finally worked up the courage to tell her that he liked her as more than a friend, just before they both went off to college. And _of course_ she loved him too, he was her best friend, and an amazing person who really cared about her, not to mention he had a killer body.

Everyone had called them crazy, starting a relationship a month before they headed off to different colleges. But they were only an hour away from each other and they made it work. And Clarke never felt anything _more_ intense for anyone than what she felt for Wells. So it must have been true love.

Only now, as he holds her, and she's crying because her heart is broken over another man, she realises that Wells could never make her feel like this. Like there's a hole in her chest that's bleeding out and seeping into her clothes. God, and he never made her feel alive like Bellamy does either. She never missed him like she misses Bellamy, never ached for him, yearned for him. She never felt desperate for him or giddily happy because of him.

A fist latches onto her heart, squeezing hard. She can't breathe. She's fucking in love with Bellamy. The realisation paralyses her. She's suffocating in Wells' arms. She pulls away, shaking, her eyes wide. Wells tilts his head, questioning.

"What is it?"

"I think we should break up."

Wells stares at her as if unable to comprehend what she's saying. "What?"

Clarke takes a deep breath. Somehow, the tears have stopped now. "I—" she swallows. She'd said it without thinking, knowing it was the right thing. But now she doesn't know how to explain to him that it's over, convince him to let her go. "I don't want to do this anymore," Clarke whispers. "I don't feel… how I used to."

Wells continues staring at her. He squeezes his eyes shut, frowning. "You're—you're breaking up with me?"

Clarke nods. "I'm so sorry."

"Clarke," Wells shakes his head. "I don't understand, I don't— where is this coming from?"

"Hasn't it been coming for a while?" Clarke points out. "Haven't you noticed I've been… distant?"

"No!" Wells bursts out. "If anything, you've seemed _happier_ these last few months. The last week excluded."

Clarke opens her mouth but promptly closes it again. Well, if that isn't telling enough. "I'm sorry."

Wells doesn't say anything else for a moment, so Clarke moves to walk past him and out of the kitchen.

"Clarke, no," Wells says. Clarke stops. "You can't do this. You can't throw away what we have with an _I'm sorry_. Don't the last seven years mean _anything_ to you?"

"Of course they do!" Clarke says. "But Wells, I just don't want to be in this relationship anymore."

"You owe me an explanation," Wells says, his voice almost cold now.

Clarke shakes her head helplessly. How can she can give him an explanation that won't break his heart and his trust? "I can't give you one," she says.

"Try."

"I'm leaving, Wells," Clarke says, more forceful now. She sweeps past him, out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom.

"Clarke," Wells calls after her. The coldness is gone, replaced with a vulnerability. "Clarke, don't do this," he pleads, following her down the hall. "Don't go."

Tears start to prick her eyes again as she walks into the bedroom and grabs a small suitcase from the closet. She throws it onto the bed and starts tossing clothes into it.

"Clarke," Wells says again, standing in the doorway. She doesn't look up at him, can't bear to see the pain in his eyes, but she can feel him watching her. "Whatever it is, we can work it out. Just tell me what's wrong. Did I do something? Talk to me!"

Clarke stops packing things and turns to Wells. "I don't want to hurt you," she whispers.

"You already are."

Clarke shakes her head, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "I don't love you like I should," she admits. "I don't love you the way you love me."

"Since when?"

Clarke shrugs. "I don't know. A while."

Wells shakes his head. Clarke notices for the first time that he's crying too. "I don't believe you," he says.

"You don't have to believe me. I'm still leaving."

"Okay, go. I'll still be here when you want to come back."

"Wells—"

"Don't. This isn't it for us." Clarke knows she can't convince him otherwise. Only time will be able to do that. Wells shakes his head. "I think I'm going to… go out. I don't know. Get a drink. I don't think I can watch you pack."

"Wells—" Clarke tries again, but he just shakes his head.

"I love you," he tells her. Clarke doesn't respond, and Wells leaves without another word.

* * *

With nowhere else to go, Clarke checks into a hotel a few blocks away. Standing in the small hotel room, devoid of any light or personality, Clarke wonders for the first time if she's being totally crazy. Did she really just break up with the guy she's been with for _seven years_? And for what? A guy who doesn't even want to have sex with her anymore?

Clarke collapses onto the bed, covering her face with her hands. Perhaps she is crazy. Perhaps she's just upset and exhausted, and she'll wake up in the morning and realise she's made a huge mistake. And yet, part of her knows she made the right decision. Whether or not she loved Wells at the beginning is irrelevant. She doesn't love him now. Or at least, she's not _in_ love with him. Not like she is with Bellamy.

Her stomach churns and she groans out loud, rolling onto her belly and burying her face in a pillow. How the fuck did this happen? It was just supposed to be sex! She doesn't want to be in love with him. There are a million reasons not to be in love with him. Sure, she can't think of any of them right now, but she knows they exist. Well, except the main one, which is plain and simple: he doesn't love her back.

And it's totally not his fault, and she can't blame him. They both knew it was only supposed to be sex between them, no feelings. Clarke had a boyfriend for fuck's sake. They had their fun, and Bellamy got bored of her and now they're done. It's not his fault she was stupid enough to go and get attached. Still, that knowledge doesn't make it hurt any less. Clarke wonders how many other girls he slept with while he was with her.

"Fucking hell, Clarke," she mutters to herself. "Don't go there."

Instead of crying again, (Clarke has had enough of that lately), she rolls off the bed and pads over to the mini fridge, pulling out the tiny bottles of liquor. It's going to cost her a fortune, but getting drunk right now is really the only solution, even if it is a temporary one.

The alcohol doesn't exactly make her forget about Bellamy. If anything, it makes her think about him more. Except, she's no longer dwelling on the fact that he doesn't love her, she's instead thinking about him touching her, imagining him kissing her, filling her with his cock. Pretty drunk already, Clarke stumbles to the suitcase she'd dumped by the door and opens it, rifling through her clothes until she finds the dildo Bellamy had given her. It won't feel like him, but it will have to do. She drops her jeans and panties on her way back to the bed, tripping over them as she tries to kick them off. She pulls her shirt over her head and takes her bra off, then throws herself back onto the bed. She tries to massage her tits, play with her nipples, but she's too drunk to do it properly, so she gives up. Or maybe it's just that Bellamy is the only one who can get her to come by playing with her tits.

She focuses her attention on her pussy, letting the dildo glide up and down her pussy lips. She doesn't have any lube, but she's wet enough that she should be fine without it. She rubs her clit with her middle finger, but honestly, she just wants something inside her, and soon she's pushing the dildo into her cunt, revelling in the feel of it stretching her open, at the same time wishing it was Bellamy's cock. She wishes she could call him, hear his voice, let him whisper dirty things to her to help her get off. She'll just have to make do with imagining what he'd say. _Fucking hell, baby, you're so wet. You want to get fucked hard, huh? You need it?_

"Yes, I need it," Clarke whimpers out loud, holding the dildo inside of herself. "I need you, Bell."

 _You got it, baby. Anything you want._

Clarke pumps the dildo in and out of her pussy, desperately, frantically. It doesn't take her long to reach her peak, imagining Bellamy talking to her, imagining it's his cock inside her.

 _I love you, baby,_ she imagines him saying. She comes, hard, her juices coating the dildo. But then she's crashing back to reality, the haze of her orgasm wearing off all too quickly. She feels even more wretched than before. Why had she let herself imagine him saying that?

She gets up and goes to the bathroom, washing the dildo and then barricading herself in the shower. She lets the too hot water scold her skin, and then she's fucking crying again, because that's apparently all she can do lately. She's pathetic.

She eventually shuts the water off, after how long she doesn't know. An hour maybe, two. She towels herself dry and puts her pyjamas on before crawling into bed, an alcohol induced headache already forming. Yet somehow, despite her pounding head and her uncontrollable thoughts of both Bellamy and Wells, sleep comes easily, and before long she's drifting off.

* * *

Clarke doesn't tell anyone that she and Wells are over. And nobody messages her or calls her to check on her, she figures Wells hasn't told anyone either. She supposes there's a part of her that's still coming to terms with the break up. Seven years is a long time, after all. And she's not ready to hear what her friends have to say. She doesn't want to have to explain it to Octavia or Raven. Octavia will think she's an idiot for not ending it sooner. Raven will think she's an idiot for ending it at all. Ditto with her mom. So, yeah, telling people is not her top priority just yet.

She goes to work on Monday like everything is normal. And everything at work _is_ normal. It's good actually. She can throw herself into her work and not have to think about Wells' feelings, or Bellamy's non-existent feelings, and best of all, her own feelings. Clarke isn't usually the type to just ignore a problem, but feelings are different. You can't solve feelings. Denial is the only way.

The week passes slowly. The days are fine, but the nights are awful. It's been a long time since Clarke has felt truly lonely, and she doesn't quite know how to deal with it.

Wells messages her a few times, and calls her a few more, but she ignores him. She knows eventually she'll have to talk to him. He does deserve a real explanation. She's just not ready yet.

She does, however, pick up when Raven calls.

"Girls night, my place, Saturday night," Raven says.

"Wow, really? Your social calendar isn't booked out for the next five months?"

"I had a cancellation."

"You know you're allowed to just spend some time alone, right? Take a bath, read a book."

"Do you want to come or not?"

"Yes!" Clarke says quickly. A girls' night might be exactly what she needs. "What should I bring?"

"Alcohol."

"You got it."

* * *

It turns out, the reason for the girls' night is that Raven is pissed at Shaw. Apparently, he asked her to move in with him. Oh, the horror!

"I don't get it," Harper shakes her head. "Why is this a bad thing?"

"Because it's too soon!" Raven huffs. "We literally only said 'I love you' to each other a week ago, and now he wants to move in together."

"You know there's not like, a specific timeline for relationships, right? Some people even move in together before saying I love you," Octavia tells her.

"Those people are idiots," Raven rolls her eyes.

"So just tell him you don't want to move in together yet," Octavia shrugs. "What's the big deal?"

"I did tell him, and he was fine with it, but I'm annoyed at him for asking and I just wanted to vent," Raven pouts.

"Oh," Octavia nods. "Sorry. Vent away."

"I'm done now. What about you? How are things with Niylah?"

Octavia launches into a spiel about how great things are going with Niylah, and Clarke is only half listening, sipping on her wine absently. Octavia finishes gushing about Niylah (Clarke is pretty sure she's never heard Octavia _gush_ before. It's weird) and then Harper proceeds to tell them that she and Monty are trying to get pregnant. In other words, all Clarke's friends' relationships are perfect, and she's the only single one, pining over a man who doesn't love her back.

"You're weirdly silent tonight, Clarke," Harper muses. "Everything okay?"

Clarke hesitates. This probably the part where she should tell them that she broke up with Wells and that she's currently living in a hotel room.

"Well—" she starts. Octavia's phone starts ringing, and three sets of eyes turn to her.

"Oops, sorry," Octavia apologises, grabbing her phone from the arm of the couch. "It's Bellamy, I'll just be a sec." Clarke's stomach swoops at the mention of his name. She hopes her face isn't as red as it feels.

Octavia jumps up from the couch, answering her phone as she leaves the room to take the call. Clarke, Raven and Harper sit in silence as they wait for her to return. Clarke isn't sure why. Maybe the other girls sense that Clarke was about to tell them something big and they don't want to continue without Octavia. Clarke certainly doesn't want to have to say it twice.

Octavia returns and settles herself back on the couch.

"Where were we?" she asks.

"Everything okay with Bellamy?" Clarke asks. She can't help herself.

"Yeah, he's fine," Octavia says. "He has a date tonight and he wanted to know the name of the place I went to with Niylah last week."

"He has a date?" Clarke repeats dumbly.

"Yeah," Octavia rolls her eyes. "This chick named Echo of all things. They've been out four times in the last two weeks."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Harper asks. "Bellamy never dates anyone. I would've thought you'd be happy for him."

"I would be, but I fucking hate Echo. I've only met her once but she's a complete bitch. I don't know what he sees in her."

"Damn, now I really want to meet her," Raven says.

"Okay, enough about Bellamy!" Octavia huffs. "Clarke was about to tell us something."

The three of them turn to look at her. "Um. Was I?" Clarke hedges. She swallows, trying to rid her mouth of the taste of bile. "I don't think so. Everything is great with me and Wells. We've got our annual beach trip coming up in a couple of weeks. I'm really looking forward to it."

"I bet he's going to propose this year," Harper grins.

Octavia rolls her eyes. "You say that every year. I bet he's never going to propose."

Clarke is barely listening. She gets up from the couch in a daze. "Bathroom," she murmurs as an excuse, hurrying down the hall and locking herself in the bathroom, sitting down on the lid of the toilet. She wills herself not to cry, but her willpower doesn't seem to be very strong these days.

She doesn't even know what she's so upset about. So what if Bellamy is dating someone? She already knows he doesn't want _her_. So why does it feel like he's breaking up with her all over again? Is it because somewhere, deep inside, she thought maybe there was a chance after all? That maybe he really liked her, even loved her, the way she loves him?

But the fact that he's already been on four dates with this _Echo_ prove that he doesn't. He must really like her, even if Octavia doesn't. Perhaps he's finally found the right person.

There's a light tap on the door. "Clarke, are you okay?" Octavia calls.

Clarke sniffs and takes a deep breath, wiping her eyes. "Fine!" she calls back. Then she changes her mind. "Actually, I'm not feeling well. I think I'm going to go home."

"Okay," Octavia says, sounding unsure.

Clarke gets up and flushes the toilet, then runs her hands under the tap, before wetting her face. She studies her face, making sure it doesn't look like she's been crying, then makes her way back to the living room.

"Did you drink too much?" Raven asks. Clarke gives her a half-hearted smile.

"I guess so."

"Maybe you're pregnant," Harper jokes. Clarke blanches. She couldn't think of anything worse right now.

"God, I hope not," she grimaces. She grabs her bag and heads for the door. "I'll see you guys later."

Out on the street, Clarke stops, taking a deep breath. She doesn't know where to go now. Back to hotel room where she's just going to mope and cry alone? To a bar, where she can drown her sorrows? Before she can make up her mind, she hears someone say her name, and she turns to see Wells, standing by his car on the street.

"What are you doing here?" she asks. "Are you following me?"

Wells shakes his head. "Raven mentioned you had a girls' night tonight."

"So what? You were just going to wait out here until I came outside?"

Wells shrugs. "Something like that, yeah."

"Kind of creepy."

"Clarke, come on," Wells sighs. He makes his way towards her. "You won't pick up when I call. Won't respond to my messages. I miss you. I just want to talk to you."

"So talk."

"I still don't understand why you left." Clarke says nothing. Wells sighs again. "Where are you even staying?"

"A hotel."

"Must be costing you a fortune."

"Yeah."

"Clarke, come home."

Clarke starts to well up again. She's pretty sure she's going to get her tear ducts welded shut one of these days. "I can't."

"Why not?"

Clarke shrugs. She looks at him. He has tears in his eyes too. Fucking hell. "Wells…" she starts. But she has no idea what to even say next.

"You haven't told anyone we broke up," Wells notes.

"Neither have you."

"Because I don't want us to be broken up. Have you even been looking for somewhere else to live? Another apartment?"

Clarke shakes her head.

"I know you still love me," Wells whispers.

"So?" Clarke huffs. "I'm still not _in_ love with you. You deserve better."

"I don't want better. I want you. We can work on this. We can fix it. Clarke, we've had seven great years, we were bound to hit a rough patch eventually. We have to work through it. This is worth fighting for."

Clarke can't believe how much sense he's making. She finds herself nodding. "Okay," she says. "You're right."

Wells eyes light up, hopeful. "Yeah?"

"Yes. But don't expect it to be easy."

"Nothing good ever is," Wells says. Clarke nods again. Wells takes her hand. "Let's go get your stuff from the hotel, and then we can go home."

"Okay," Clarke says. "Okay. Let's go home."


	8. Chapter 8

Normally, Clarke really looks forward to getting away to the beach for a weekend, just her and Wells. This year, the thought makes her queasy.

Clarke had been partly relieved to move make home with Wells. Living in a hotel had kind of sucked, and living alone was even worse. She still doesn't know if she made the right decision. But she promised him she'd try, so she's going to try.

And yes, it's Bellamy she really wants, and not Wells. But she can't have Bellamy. Bellamy doesn't want her, and Wells does. So maybe she's settling for second best, but it's better than being alone for the rest of her life.

Despite her best intentions, and the fact that she really is trying, she's not ready to go away with Wells alone. She's worried the trip will just magnify all the holes in their relationship, before they've had a chance to really fix them. She doesn't want to cancel the trip completely, so she suggests inviting a few other people to join them. Wells agrees surprisingly easily. Actually, he's been very accommodating the past couple of weeks, almost like he's walking on eggshells around her, afraid she'll up and run again. But the truth is he doesn't really have anything to worry about. Now that Clarke knows she has no shot with Bellamy, she has no reason to leave him. She wishes there was some way to prove that to him, so they can get start getting back to normal.

The beach house is huge, and Clarke thinks it's probably worth a hell of a lot of money if Wells ever decides to sell it. Thelonius Jaha had left most of his money to charity when he died, but he left Wells the beach house. Not to sound selfish, but if Clarke's mom does that, she's going to be super pissed.

Clarke invites Octavia and Raven, and they both decide they're bringing their partners. Monty and Harper can't make it, and Jasper and Miller don't want to hang around a bunch of couples for the whole weekend. So Clarke figures it's going to be six people in the five bedroom house, with each couple getting their own bathroom. She's actually looking forward to it.

But then she gets a call from Bellamy. She's on the train home from work, and she almost drops her phone when she sees his name pop up. She dithers for a moment, her heart pounding, before she finally decides to answer.

"Hi," she says, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Clarke," he says, and the sound of her name on his tongue makes her knees go weak.

"What's up?" she asks him. He's obviously calling for a reason. And that reason is probably not to tell her how madly in love with her he is, however many times she's envisioned that scenario in her mind's eye.

"Uh, well…" he starts. "Octavia asked me if I wanted to come to the beach with you guys this weekend."

"Oh."

"I mean, I figured I should check if it was okay with you first."

"You really want to come?" Clarke asks. She kind of figured he was avoiding her.

"Yeah, if you don't mind," Bellamy says. "I could really do with a vacation," he laughs. Clarke squeezes her eyes shut, her stomach twisting at the familiar sound of his laugh. _How_ had she not figured out sooner that she was in love with him?

"Of course it's fine," Clarke says, because why wouldn't it be? They aren't sleeping together anymore, so they don't have to worry about Wells. As far as either of them are concerned, they're just distant friends. Or acquaintances maybe.

"Great," Bellamy says. "Is it okay if I bring someone?"

Clarke hesitates, probably too long. "Sure," she says quickly, hoping he hadn't noticed her hesitation. No, she doesn't want him to bring his girlfriend, and no, she doesn't want to think about what it means that he's only been dating Echo barely a month and yet he's bringing her on a weekend away with all their friends.

"Okay. I guess I'll see you Friday."

"Okay," Clarke swallows. "See you then."

* * *

The prospect of seeing Bellamy scares Clarke to death. She hasn't seen him since A: she realised she was in love with him, and B: he broke her fucking heart. So yeah, she's a little nervous to say the least.

Wells doesn't seem to notice, though she's mostly silent on the drive to the beach house. Or perhaps he's just letting her have her space. Either way, she's glad he's not questioning her about it. There's only so many times a person can use the excuse _I'm just tired_ before it starts to seem like a lie.

Clarke and Wells get there first and claim the master bedroom. Clarke unpacks her suitcase into the wardrobe, to keep herself busy. The task doesn't really keep her mind off Bellamy though, and she keeps listening for a car in the driveway, her heart pounding rapidly.

Octavia, Niylah, Raven, and Shaw arrive together, and Clarke finally has a suitable distraction from her thoughts, as she'd introduced properly to Niylah for the first time, and Raven and Octavia start telling a story about The Worst Driver in the World they encountered on their way here.

She's so caught up in Octavia's theatrics, she doesn't even notice at first when Bellamy and Echo walk in the front door. That is until Octavia cuts herself off midsentence to greet her brother.

"Hey, you made it!" she says, walking over and giving him a hug. Clarke freezes, her heart suddenly lodged in her throat. Bellamy's eyes seem to scan over the group until they land on Clarke. She smiles weakly, feeling like a nervous wreck. Fucking hell, he looks so good. And if in the back of her mind she'd harboured some doubt about whether or not she's actually in love with him, that vanishes when he smiles back at her, and her heart squeezes itself so tight she can't breathe. Not only that, but he pussy starts to throb, as if it can sense he's close. Yeah, letting him come here was a huge mistake.

"Bellamy," Wells says, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't know you were coming."

Oops. She may have forgotten to tell Wells. Or rather, purposefully not told him because it was too hard to even say Bellamy's name out loud.

"I did ask Clarke if it was okay," he mentions.

"He did," Clarke manages, finding her voice. "I guess I forgot to tell you."

"All good, I guess. You're here now. And who is this?" Wells nods to the tall brunette standing next to Bellamy. Clarke hates her on sight. With one glance at Octavia, Clarke can tell she isn't impressed with the arrival of Echo either.

"Ah, this is my girlfriend, Echo," Bellamy introduces. "Echo, this is… everyone."

Hearing Bellamy call Echo his girlfriend sends a dagger through Clarke's heart. And it's not like she hadn't known she was his girlfriend. But hearing him actually say it out loud is something else entirely.

"Girlfriend, huh, Blake?" Raven teases. "Seems like someone is finally settling down."

Bellamy rolls his eyes. "Give it a rest, Raven. We've only been dating a month."

"Only a month and she's already your girlfriend though," Raven continues. She turns to Echo. "I guess you're the one to finally tame the wild beast," she winks.

Echo smirks. "We'll see," she says, glancing at Bellamy flirtatiously. Bellamy looks a little uncomfortable by the whole exchange. Clarke wants to throw up.

"Who wants alcohol?" she announces, heading for the kitchen where Wells had stocked the fridge with beer and cider earlier.

They all end up in the outdoor area out the back of the house, drinks in hand and an array of finger foods on the table in front of them. Echo is sitting in Bellamy's lap, playing with his hair, laughing too hard at his jokes. Clarke tries to keep her eyes averted, but she burns with jealousy. She wants to be the one sitting in his lap and playing with his hair, feeling his hard cock pressing into her, teasing him until he can't think straight. She also wants to kick Echo in the face. Instead, she tightens her grip on her bottle of cider and snuggles into Wells' side. It's not because she's trying to make Bellamy jealous. She's not dumb enough to think he would even care. But she doesn't want _him_ to know how much she's affected by his new relationship. So she's a little more affectionate with Wells than she normally is. The alcohol probably helps.

"Who wants to play a drinking game?" Octavia asks.

"I'm in," Raven says. "What are we playing?"

"You know, I think I'm a little old for drinking games," Bellamy grimaces. He looks to Echo. "You want to go to bed?"

"You know I do," Echo says, leaning in to kiss him.

"Gross," Octavia says, voicing Clarke's thoughts for her. "We won't miss you."

"Hey, you invited me," Bellamy reminds her as he and Echo stand up. Clarke watches them head inside, hand in hand. To her surprise, Bellamy glances back for a moment and meets her eyes. She quickly looks away, pressing a kiss to Wells' cheek. Overcompensating maybe. When she looks back to Bellamy, he's gone.

"Clarke? Wells? You want to play?" Octavia asks.

"I actually think maybe we should go to bed too," Clarke says. Somehow the thought of Bellamy and Echo alone in their room is worse than actually being able to see them together, and Clarke feels totally sober all of a sudden.

"Sounds good to me," Wells grins. "See you guys in the morning."

"Party poopers!" Raven calls after them as they go back inside.

Despite what Wells might think, Clarke's intentions are just to go straight to sleep. Only, once she's in her pyjamas, and under the covers, she begins to hear… noises through the wall. More specifically, the sound of Echo moaning like a mad woman.

Clarke groans, putting her pillow over her face as Wells gets into bed beside her.

"God, I hope we don't have to listen to that all night," he says. "Surely he can't be that good in bed?"

Clarke knows for a fact that he is that good. Although Echo does sound completely ridiculous moaning like that. Clarke likes to think her own moans are much sexier. She does realise that even though she can hear Echo quite clearly, she can't really hear Bellamy at all. She takes some satisfaction in the notion that maybe he's not having as much fun with Echo as he did with Clarke.

Clarke turns over on her side to face Wells. "Fuck me," she commands him.

"Huh?"

"You heard me."

"Are you actually turned on by that?" Wells snorts.

"I just think we can outdo them."

"Clarke, you're not that loud in bed. I don't think you can outdo Echo," Wells rolls his eyes. "You know, that name actually suits her come to think of it."

Clarke snorts. As much as she'd like to hang shit on Echo and her ridiculous name for the rest of the night, what she really wants is to get fucked. "I can be loud," Clarke tells him. "Watch me."

Wells doesn't need to be told twice. And okay, pretty much all of Clarke's noises are fake. But she's pretty sure a lot of Echo's are too. Sure, Bellamy is great in bed, but Echo sounds like she's literally being murdered in the next room.

Clarke pretends to come when Wells comes, but even then, they can still hear Echo through the walls.

"How are they _still_ going?" Wells asks incredulously. Clarke rolls her eyes.

"Let's just go to sleep now, okay?" she huffs. She squeezes her eyes shut tight and tries to drown out the sounds of Echo.

* * *

Clarke is awake early the next morning, long before anyone else will be up. Wells is still snoring softly next to her. It's already warming up outside, and Clarke decides to take advantage of the solitude and go for a walk along the beach. She dresses in a pair of short shorts and a tank top and heads downstairs, stopping in the kitchen to grab a glass of water before she goes.

As she fills her glass at the sink, she looks out the kitchen window to see Bellamy lounging in the hammock on the front porch, reading, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts that Clarke swears are almost as tiny as her own. God, he's so fucking sexy.

She lets herself watch him, his brow furrowed in concentration as he reads. She smiles to herself, her heart soft for him. So he has a girlfriend. She can still be in love with him and be his friend, right? It's totally possible.

She puts down her glass and walks out onto the front porch. Bellamy looks up as the door slams behind her. He sits up, closing his book. His eyes rake over her body, lingering on her tits. She feels her clit twinge. So it's not that he's not attracted to her then.

"Hey," she says. "I'm just going for a walk along the beach. Do you want to come?"

Bellamy considers. "Yeah, okay," he agrees. He swings himself off the hammock, more gracefully than what Clarke would ever be able to manage, and follows her down the front steps.

They walk in silence towards the beach, Clarke with her hands in her back pockets for lack of something better to do with them. Because what she really wants to do is slip her hand into his. Or maybe just grab his face and kiss him.

It's a five-minute walk until they reach the ocean, and it's cooler out in the open air, and a little windy. The breeze blows through Bellamy's already tousled locks, making him look like he's in a beach themed photoshoot.

"So, uh, you and Echo, huh?" Clarke says. Why, she has no idea. She does not want to hear Bellamy gush about his girlfriend. "Seems like things are going well. If what I heard last night is anything to go by."

Bellamy snorts. "You heard that, huh?"

"How could I not?"

"I will admit she's a little over the top. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was faking it sometimes," Bellamy admits.

"And how do you know better?"

Bellamy smirks. "Come on, Clarke. Don't pretend like I didn't make you come over and over and over."

Clarke shivers. Fucking hell, does he have to make her want him so bad? "So we're talking about that are we?"

Bellamy shrugs. "We don't have to. How are things going with Wells, now that you're…?"

"Back together?" Clarke finishes for him. Bellamy stops, staring at her. His jaw ticks.

"Back together?" he repeats. Clarke's eyes widen as she realises what she's said. "I was going to say monogamous." Bellamy swallows. "You and Wells broke up? When? I mean… Octavia never said—"

"She doesn't know," Clarke says quickly. Her face burns. "I didn't tell anyone. So please don't mention it. No one knows."

"Okay," Bellamy nods. He seems unable to look at her now. They continue walking.

"It was right after… you ended things with me. And it was only for like a week. I guess I just wanted to see if being with Wells was what I really wanted," Clarke shrugs.

Bellamy turns his head towards her sharply, his eyes piercing into her. "And it is, then?"

Clarke swallows. "Yes."

An uncomfortable silence follows. Clarke isn't sure why. All she knows is she's completely on edge, half of her desperate to confess everything to him, the other half desperate to hold onto her pride. The prideful side of her wins out.

"You want to go swimming?" she says. Anything to break the silence.

"What?"

"The water looks so nice," Clarke continues. She tilts her head at him, waiting to see if he's coming.

"I think I'll pass," he says. Clarke shrugs, as if to say _suit yourself_ , and then she pulls her tank top over her head and her shorts over her ass. She can feel him watching her strip down to her underwear, and she's totally not doing this to get a reaction from him, but if it turns him on too then she's not complaining.

She looks back over her shoulder as she heads towards the water. He's still watching her. She can't help a smirk from spreading across her face.

The water is freezing, but Clarke forces herself to wade in anyway. She reaches her waist then dives under the water. She breaks the surface again, gasping from the cold, flicking her hair out of her eyes. She stands up, the water just reaching her breasts.

"Come on!" she yells to Bellamy. "It's not cold, I swear!"

"You're lying!" he yells back, but he's very clearly smiling.

"Don't be such a chicken!"

Bellamy shakes his head, laughing. But then he's walking towards her and into the water.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Bellamy swears as he gets deeper. "It's fucking freezing, Clarke!"

"It's not that bad!"

He dives under the water and surfaces half a metre from her. "You're insane," he tells her.

"Yet you followed me anyway."

"You're too persuasive."

Clarke pokes her tongue out, and then splashes him. Bellamy raises an eyebrow, smirking.

"Don't start something you can't finish, Griffin," he challenges, stepping towards her.

"Oh, what are you going to do?" she teases. He lunges for her and she turns away, trying to escape his grasp half-heartedly, but he grabs her around the waist, pulling her back flush against his chest.

"No, don't!" she squeals, laughing.

"Do you surrender?" he asks, lips against her ear. Clarke squirms, trying not to think about his wet skin against hers. But it feels like he's touching her everywhere, and her head swims and her cunt pulses with need. She wonders if he's hard right now, but she doesn't dare make a move to find out.

"I surrender," she tells him, and he lets her go. She turns around, but she doesn't put any distance between them. His eyes flick to her lips and she wills him to kiss her.

"Clarke," he says hoarsely. "I really want to kiss you."

"So kiss me," she murmurs.

Bellamy shakes his head. "I have a girlfriend, Clarke. I'm not going to cheat on her." Right, Echo. "We should head back," Bellamy sighs, stepping away from her. Disappointed, but knowing it's better this way, Clarke follows him back up to the sand. She grabs her clothes from the ground but doesn't put them back on yet.

"We should wash the salt and sand off before we go," Clarke says, nodding her head towards the public bathroom by the carpark. There's an outdoor shower around the side of the brick building. Clarke gets under first, and the water is cold but not as cold as the ocean. She closes her eyes to let the water fall over her face, and opens them to find Bellamy looking at her strangely.

"What?" she asks.

"You know your underwear is totally see-through right now, right?"

Clarke had not known, but when she looks down now, she can see that he's right. The white material of her bra and panties clings to her, the water having turned them so transparent it's like she isn't wearing anything at all.

"Oh," she says. "You're right." She looks back up at him. "You waited a long time to tell me that," she points out. He must have noticed as soon as they got out of the water. And he definitely hasn't been _not_ looking at her.

Bellamy flushes. "Clarke—"

"I guess there's no point in wearing them at all then," Clarke shrugs. She reaches behind her to unclasp her bra and lets it fall from her chest. Then she peels off her panties and throws them to the side where her shorts and tank top sit.

"Fucking hell, Clarke," Bellamy groans, shaking his head.

"We're wasting water," Clarke says, she reaches out and grabs his arm, tugging him into the shower with her. He's stronger than her, he could resist easily, if he wanted to. He doesn't.

He doesn't move to touch her, but he's so close that her nipples brush his chest, and he's looking down at her with dark eyes, filled with want.

"Why are you like this?" he asks. Is that an insult or a compliment?

"Like what?"

"Irresistible," he murmurs. His hands come to rest of her waist, and then he leans down, capturing her lips between his. Clarke whimpers as she closes her eyes, her arms circling around his neck. The water shuts off automatically, but Clarke barely notices. Bellamy presses her against the brick wall behind her, crushing her tits against his chest. He's kissing her like his life depends on it, desperate and messy, like he's trying to remind her she's alive. She'd almost forgotten what it's like to be kissed by him, and now that she remembers she doesn't ever want him to stop again. She needs him to remind her how it feels to be fucked, really fucked. She wants him to fill her throbbing cunt with his cock, and come with him deep inside her.

"Bell, fuck me," she moans. "I need you, I need you."

"You need me, huh?" he says. "You need your pussy filled? You need my cock inside you?"

"Yes. Please. Please."

"Of course you do, baby," he murmurs, slipping a hand between her legs. "Bet you missed being fucked properly, didn't you?"

"Uh huh," Clarke nods as Bellamy plays with her clit. "I missed you so much."

"Missed me? Or missed my cock?" He pushes two fingers inside her and she gasps.

"Both," she moans. She tugs at his shorts, and he helps her pull them down to free his cock. "Oh god," she groans. "I forgot how big it is. I need it inside me."

"I know, baby, I know," Bellamy coos. He kisses her again, gripping her ass, hoisting her up so she can wrap her legs around him. He presses the bulging head of his cock against her entrance, and then he's pushing inside her, stretching her pussy good and wide. Clarke almost comes right then.

Her back is against the bricks, and she clutches his back as he thrusts into her.

"Yes," she gasps. "Fuck me, baby. Fuck me, fuck me."

Bellamy moans and the sound sends shockwaves through her. He drives into her over and over, the pressure building inside her. She needs to come so bad, and she's right there on the edge. _I love you_ , she thinks. _I love you, I love you._ And it would be so easy to let it slip off her tongue right now, in this moment of bliss. But instead she just cries his name as she comes, her walls clenching around him as she comes all over his cock.

"Come inside me," Clarke moans as he continues fucking her against the wall. "I need your come in me."

"Anything you want," Bellamy groans, letting his seed spill inside her, filling her up with his come. It leaks out of her as he pulls his cock out of her and lets her back onto the ground. Bellamy steps back, pulling his shorts back up, not bothering to clean himself up. She wonders if he's feeling guilty. He grabs her clothes and hands them to her, and Clarke quickly puts her wet underwear back on and then her shorts and top. Bellamy looks away, as if he hadn't just had his hands all over her naked body.

"Are you okay?" Clarke asks.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Bellamy nods.

"What about Echo?"

Bellamy considers. "She doesn't have to know."


	9. Chapter 9

By the time Clarke and Bellamy make it back to the house, Clarke is half expecting everyone else to be up, but it's only Octavia making toast in the kitchen.

Clarke had spent the walk home desperately willing herself to say something to Bellamy, but constantly coming up short. She knows they need to talk properly. She doesn't know if she should tell him how she feels, but she would like some closure at the very least. Does it mean something that he cheated on Echo with her? That he called her irresistible? That he still wants her even though he ended it?

"Where have you two been?" Octavia asks, suspicious, as Bellamy and Clarke walk into the kitchen from outside.

"Beach," Bellamy says.

"You couldn't wait for the rest of us, huh?"

Bellamy shrugs and looks to Clarke. Octavia gives a disapproving snort. Clarke rolls her eyes, not even bothering to try to appease Octavia. Octavia looks about to say something else snarky and disapproving, but she quickly shuts her mouth when Wells walks into the room.

"Morning," he grins, giving Clarke a quick kiss before making for the coffee machine. "You guys hit the beach already?" he asks.

"Yes," Clarke says. "All three of us." Octavia narrows her eyes at Clarke. "I'm going to go shower."

"Me too," Bellamy agrees. Octavia glares at them both as they head upstairs together, quickly separating when they reach their own rooms.

Clarke spends way too long in the shower, overthinking and trying to get the feel of Bellamy out of her skin. Fucking him today had probably been a bad decision. How is she supposed to get over him if she keeps having sex with him? Does she even really want to get over him?

When she appears downstairs again, dressed but not necessarily feeling all that clean, everyone else is up, and Wells has planned the entire day for them. There's a market in town that Niylah wants to check out, so they all tag along. Clarke buys a couple of second-hand books, and Wells buys her an ugly shell necklace that she pretends to adore. Lunch is spent at a café that's trying way too hard to be hipster, and then they all head back down to the beach for a couple of hours.

Clarke doesn't get in the water this time, mostly because Bellamy and Echo do, and she's watching them splash around the way she and Bellamy had done this morning and she can't help but seethe with jealousy.

Raven has a beach ball and a volleyball and tries to organise some kind of game, but Clarke doesn't feel like playing. She tunes out the joyful laughter of her friends playing whatever dumb game they've made up that involves both the beach ball _and_ the volleyball, and tries to read instead. The others eventually tire themselves out and they all head back to the house.

Octavia puts a movie on, and while everyone else finds a spot to sit and watch, Clarke takes the opportunity to retreat to her room, claiming she's going to take a nap.

Alone in her room, Clarke pulls off her dress and bikini, exchanging the uncomfortable clothes for her oversized Lana Del Rey t-shirt and a pair of floral panties. Then she curls up on the bed with one of the books she'd bought at the market. Half an hour later there's a knock at the door. Clarke pauses, looking up at the door. Wells wouldn't knock, and she doubts Octavia or Raven would either. She doesn't know Niylah or Shaw or Echo well enough for them to come knocking on her door. Which leaves…

"Come in," Clarke calls, her heart hammering against her ribcage. The door opens, and sure enough, Bellamy steps inside. He shuts the door behind him and Clarke sits up, closing her book and setting it aside.

"Hey," he says, softly. "I thought we should probably… talk."

Clarke swallows, nodding. She pats the bed beside her, and Bellamy walks over, falling onto the bed beside her. His eyes land on her chest, and for a moment Clarke thinks he's checking out her tits, until he smirks and says, "Nice shirt."

She looks down. Right, her Lana Del Rey shirt. She's suddenly wrenched back to the night of the concert, the night he fingered her in public, the first night he fucked her. It fills her body with want just thinking about it. He can't be allowed to do this to her. Not if he's not here to fuck her senseless.

"Won't Echo miss you?" Clarke asks. Bellamy looks at her guiltily, and she knows he was thinking about that night too. Good.

He shakes his head. "She decided she wanted to nap too."

"Right." Clarke clenches her jaw. "What did you want to talk about?"

"First, I wanted to say… I'm sorry."

Clarke glances at him, surprised. "What for?"

"I said we were friends, and then as soon as we weren't sleeping together, I completely ignored you," Bellamy sighs. "That was shitty."

"Yeah, well, I didn't exactly try to stay in touch either."

"Still," Bellamy says, his eyes on her, fierce and genuine. "I'm sorry."

"Me too."

"And… about this morning—" He pauses, reaching a hand towards her thigh, but then thinking better of it and letting his hand fall to the bed between them. "I—I'm not saying it was bad. But it shouldn't have happened. I don't want to be that person."

Clarke swallows, and gives a sharp nod. "Not like me, you mean."

"Clarke—"

"No, it's fine. You're right. I'm a terrible person."

Bellamy looks pained. "I don't think you're a terrible person. And I'm no saint. But what we did was wrong. It can't happen again."

Clarke nods. "I just want you to be happy," she tells him, putting her hand over his. Her voice wobbles slightly. But she's not going to cry again. Not in front of him.

"And I want the same for you."

Clarke opens her mouth, almost tells him that she can't possibly be happy without him. Instead she says, "I guess this is it then."

Bellamy nods. "I guess so."

"Bell?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you kiss me one last time?"

He reaches for her and the same time she reaches for him, and they meet in the middle, gripping at each other like they can't bear to be separated from one another. As Bellamy's lips meet hers, Clarke feels the tears spill from her eyes silently. She kisses him back, unable to stop the tears, but unwilling to tear her mouth from his for the last time. But then she can taste the salt from her own tears, and he's pulling away, searching her eyes, worried.

"Clarke?" he says softly, and it feels like he's tugging on her heart. He brushes the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. "What's wrong?"

Clarke pulls away from him, sitting up, turning her head so he can't see her cry. Bellamy sits up too, and she can feel him watching her. He rests his hand on her shoulder.

"Clarke, baby, what is it?"

"Don't call me that," Clarke says, her voice surprisingly even. She takes a deep breath. "I'm okay," she whispers. She wipes her eyes, manages to stop herself from crying. She turns back to him. His concern is etched on his face. "Pass me a tissue, will you?"

"Where?"

"Wells probably has some in one of those drawers."

Bellamy turns towards the small chest of drawers beside the bed, sitting on the edge of the bed as he opens the top one. Clarke knows he isn't going to be satisfied until she tells him why she's crying, but at least she can buy herself some time.

Bellamy rifles through the top drawer, and upon not finding any tissues, he closes it and opens to the next one. He stops suddenly, staring into the drawer, shell-shocked. He swallows.

"What is it?" Clarke asks.

"Nothing," Bellamy says quickly, slamming the drawer closed. Clarke frowns. For a moment she forgets why she's upset, more focused on what Bellamy just found in Wells' drawer and why he's acting so weird about it.

"Seriously, Bellamy, what did you find in there? If it's something sinister I should probably know about it," Clarke huffs. She secretly hopes maybe it's some proof that Wells has been cheating on her too. She hopes it's not some sign that he's a serial killer.

"It's not sinister."

"Then why are you acting so weird? And why won't you look at me?"

"It's nothing, Clarke."

But it's obviously something, so Clarke rolls off the bed and marches around to the chest of drawers.

"Clarke, don't," Bellamy pleads. Clarke ignores him, wrenching open the second drawer. She freezes, her mouth dropping open. It can't be— "I told you not to look," Bellamy mutters.

"Maybe it's not…" Clarke murmurs, reaching for the little velvet box. Maybe it's not a ring. Maybe it's earrings or something. She opens the box, holding her breath. It's a ring alright. A huge ugly diamond on a platinum band. Clarke stares at it, paralysed, her chest tight. Harper was fucking right for once.

Clarke glances at Bellamy. He's watching her cautiously, gauging her reaction.

"Congratulations?" he says. Clarke shakes her head. This is so far from what she wants.

"Bellamy, I don't—" she chokes out. But before she can even decide where the rest of that sentence is headed, the sound of the door handle turning interrupts her. Panicking, she quickly slams the box closed and throws it back into the drawer. Bellamy gets the drawer shut just as the door swings open.

It isn't Wells though. It's Octavia. Bellamy and Clarke turn to look at her, and Clarke is sure they both look guilty as hell.

"I fucking knew it," Octavia snorts. "I thought you said this was over."

"We're just talking, O," Bellamy assures her.

"Is that right? Is that why Clarke isn't wearing pants? We're you just talking this morning when you found yourselves alone at the beach together?"

"Octavia—" Clarke starts.

"Don't lie to me, Clarke."

"It's really over this time," Clarke says, though it breaks her heart to say it. Octavia purses her lips. She turns her attention to Bellamy.

"Your girlfriend is looking for you. You're lucky I volunteered to find you."

Bellamy nods sheepishly, standing up and heading for the door. He glances back at Clarke as he passes Octavia, a long look that Clarke can't work out the meaning of. Then he's gone, and Clarke is left with Octavia. Octavia slams the door shut, turning on Clarke angrily.

"He has a girlfriend, Clarke!" Octavia snaps. "Why can't you just let him be happy?"

Clarke shakes her head, at a loss for words.

"Octavia—" she whispers, her voice cracking. She sinks to the bed, and she hates herself because she's crying again.

"Clarke?" Octavia says, confused. "Are you crying because I yelled at you?"

Clarke shakes her head. Octavia hesitates a moment. She's never been great with displays of emotion. But then she sighs and makes her way over, sitting on the bed next to Clarke.

"I refuse to feel sorry for you," Octavia says. "Unless you're crying about something other than your affair with Bellamy. Are you?" Clarke shakes her head again. "Then you brought it on yourself."

"I know," Clarke says, swallowing her tears. She wipes her eyes again. "God, I'm so pathetic."

"No argument from me." Octavia pauses. "Why exactly _are_ you crying?"

"Promise you won't tell him?"

"I think I've proven that I can keep a secret. So come on, fess up. Why are you crying?"

Clarke blows out a shaky breath. "Because you're right," she sighs. "Because he has a girlfriend and it's not me. Because I know I should let him be happy, but I don't want him to be happy without me. Because I love him."

"You _love_ him?"

Clarke groans, nodding. She falls back onto the bed, covering her face with her hands. "I'm such an idiot." She feels Octavia lie down beside her.

"You really love him?"

Clarke removes her hands from her face. "Don't make me say it again."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I didn't know, okay? I didn't know until he broke up with me and I was miserable without him. To be honest I don't think I really understood what love felt like and that's why it took me so long to figure it out."

"So… you don't love Wells? You never loved him?" Octavia asks.

Clarke shrugs. "Not like this."

Octavia turns on her side, propping herself up on her elbow. "Clarke, you know I don't approve of you cheating on Wells with Bellamy. But if you and Bellamy broke up with your… significant others, and wanted to be together… that, I would be okay with. I hate Echo anyway."

"What are you talking about?"

"You and Bellamy. As a couple."

"He doesn't want to be with me."

Octavia groans. "Clarke, you really are the dumbest bitch on the planet. Other than maybe my brother."

"Thanks."

"Look, I'm not supposed to say anything. I promised I wouldn't. But you should tell him how you feel."

"What do you mean you're not supposed to say anything?"

"Don't question me, Clarke."

Clarke absolutely wants to question her, because who says something like that and offers no explanation? But before she can press Octavia further, they're interrupted again, this time by Raven.

"Wells is making dinner. He says we all have to help."

Clarke gives Octavia a meaningful look, letting her know this conversation isn't over, before pulling on a pair of shorts and following Raven downstairs.

Wells gives Clarke a smile as she enters the kitchen, and her stomach plummets, suddenly remembering the engagement ring hidden upstairs. When is he planning on doing it? How long has he had the ring? Does he really think they're at a place in their relationship where it's a good idea to get _married_? Or is he just so scared of losing her that he'll do anything, even something as reckless as proposing?

As she helps Wells prepare dinner, she comes to the conclusion that she has to tell him that she knows about the ring. But it can wait until after dinner. No need to spoil the whole evening.

Clarke's stomach is in turmoil all throughout dinner. She can barely eat. She refuses to make eye contact with either Bellamy or Wells. Wells is sitting next to her, so that's easy enough. But Bellamy is right across the table from her, and she swears he keeps trying to catch her eye. She wonders if she can manage to avoid being alone with either of them for the rest of the night. She doesn't want to explain her tears to Bellamy, and she _definitely_ doesn't want to be proposed to. The knots in her stomach are so tight she thinks she might vomit.

Finally, dinner is over, and Clarke starts collecting empty dishes.

"Octavia and I will clean up," she offers. "The rest of you can relax."

"We will?"

"Yes."

"Thanks, babe," Wells says, squeezing her hand. From what she can tell, he doesn't seem nervous or anxious at all, so perhaps he's not planning on proposing after all.

Octavia sighs and helps Clarke take the dishes and leftover food to the kitchen, and begins stacking the dishwasher, while the others retire to the lounge room. Clarke waits until she's sure they're out of earshot before she starts questioning Octavia.

"What did you mean earlier? What aren't you allowed to say?"

Octavia huffs. "I'm not going to tell you. I shouldn't have even said what I said."

"But you did. So now you have to elaborate."

"Can't you figure it out?"

"Figure what out?"

"Think about it, Clarke," Octavia snaps. "You know Bellamy hasn't had a serious girlfriend in the entire time he's known you?"

"So? Has he ever had a serious girlfriend?"

"He had two before he met you."

"Oh. But what's that got to do with me?"

Octavia gives Clarke a pointed look. "It has everything to do with you."

Clarke gapes at her. "You think he's in love with me."

Octavia shrugs. "I didn't say that. But if that's the conclusion you draw…"

"He's not though," Clarke swallows. "Why wouldn't he say something? And besides, he's known me _seven years_ ," Clarke snorts. "You think he's been in love with me for seven years? That's a long time to be in love with someone you can't have."

"Yeah, it is."

Clarke stares at her. "He's not in love with me. It doesn't make any sense."

Octavia huffs. "Fine, Clarke, think what you want. But I don't want to ever hear you pine over him, and I sure as hell don't want you to try and mess up his other relationships if you're not willing to actually be with him."

Clarke swallows. She's got nothing else to say to refute Octavia's claim, but at the same time she can't seem to wrap her head around the possibility that Bellamy might actually love her back. She thinks the only way she could really believe it is if she heard it from Bellamy himself. And she doesn't know if she has it in her to actually ask him. She doesn't think she could bear it if the answer was no.

Octavia shakes her head and walks out of the kitchen, leaving Clarke to finish cleaning up alone. She finishes loading the dishwasher and starts it. She has the sink filled and is about to get started on the rest of the dishes when Wells walks into the kitchen.

 _It's fine_ , she tells herself. _He wouldn't propose to you in a kitchen._

"You should leave those for later," he says.

"I'd rather just get them done now."

"I'll do them later. We should go for a walk along the beach. Just the two of us."

Clarke stops what she's doing. "Why?" she asks, though she knows perfectly well why.

"We've barely had any time alone."

Clarke sighs, and gives a nod. Now is probably as good a time as any to tell him she doesn't want to marry him. He'll probably understand, if she can just phrase it in the right way. He has to know they aren't there yet.

He takes her hand and they head outside into the warm summer air. The sun hasn't quite set yet, and the sky is awash with soft yellow and purple colours. It would probably be really romantic if she were with the right person.

Clarke lets Wells lead her to the beach, and he's not saying anything, and she realises that _now_ he's nervous. She feels pretty anxious herself. They reach the beach, and Wells finally starts talking.

"Clarke, I know a few weeks ago you weren't sure about this relationship anymore," he says. He stops walking. Keeping her hand in his he turns to face her. "But I think that in the past couple of weeks we've really come back stronger than ever. And I hope I'm right in saying that you don't feel unsure anymore?"

"Wells—" Clarke says. She shakes her head. "Don't. Please don't."

Hurt crosses his face, and Clarke is filled with guilt. "Don't what?" Wells asks.

"Don't propose."

"How did you—"

"I found the ring earlier."

Wells swallows and his shoulders stiffen. "I thought we were doing better. I thought we were back on track."

"You were wrong."

Wells nods, but Clarke can tell he's upset. "Okay. You don't want to get married yet. You need more time, that's okay," he says, as if he's trying to convince himself.

Clarke shakes her head again. "I don't need more time," she says. "I don't want to marry you. Ever."

Wells flinches. Maybe it's harsh. Maybe she'd come out here with the intention of softening the blow, of letting him believe one day she'd be ready to marry him. Maybe she thought she could convince herself that's what she wanted too. But standing here, with him about to propose, she realises she'll never want that. And it doesn't matter whether or not Bellamy loves her back, or whether she ever finds that out. There's a possibility that Octavia's right, that he really does love her. But Clarke holds little hope that there's any truth to it. She'd thought being with Wells would be better than being alone, but she realises now there is no point trying to force something that isn't working. Something that she doesn't want. Maybe being alone is exactly what she needs anyway. Maybe it's exactly what she deserves.

"You don't mean that," Wells says.

"I'm so sorry," Clarke whispers. "I tried, I promise I tried. But I can't do this anymore."

Wells looks heartbroken. " _Why_?" he asks.

"Whatever we had before, I just don't feel it anymore!" Clarke says. "I'm tired of trying make it work, when the truth is, I don't think I even want it to work."

"I don't understand," Wells says. "I love you. You love me."

"I don't."

"Clarke," Wells pleads. "Don't do this. You can have as much time as you need. I'll wait. I swear I'll wait."

"I don't want you to wait!"

"But one day you'll realise—"

"Wells!" Clarke cries. "I cheated on you."

Wells finally goes silent. Clarke can hardly bear to look at him.

"You cheated on me?" he finally repeats, like he's still trying to process.

"Yes."

Wells shakes his head, tears forming in his eyes. Like it wasn't really over for him until she said those words. "When? Who?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes. It matters. It fucking matters. How _could_ you?"

"I'm sorry."

"You're _sorry_? For fuck's sake, Clarke. I loved you and I trusted you, and you did _this_? Do you think I could ever forgive you for this?"

"No. No, of course not."

"How long ago?"

Clarke swallows. "The first time was—"

"The _first_ time? You cheated on me more than once?" Wells rubs his face. "God. I feel like such an idiot. I really thought you loved me."

"I did!"

"You don't do that to people you love, Clarke." He's right.

A tear escapes down Wells' cheek, and Clarke feels like she should be crying as well. But maybe she's all cried out. Wells shakes his head again, and then he's storming past her, back towards the house. Clarke lets him go, not even bothering to watch him leave. She hates that she hurt him. She feels awful about it. But some other part of her is just relieved it's over. That he knows. That she's free to feel however she feels without having to worry about how it affects him.

She waits a few minutes, letting the sun set completely before she makes her way back to the house. She knows she can't stay out here forever. She has to face Wells and the others eventually. She wonders if he's told them what happened already. Whether they're all planning ways to torture her for breaking Wells' heart. She wouldn't blame them.

When she gets back, Octavia, Raven, Niylah and Shaw are sitting at the table playing a board game.

"Where's Wells?" Clarke asks.

"He left," Raven says. "What did you do to him? He seemed upset."

"We broke up," Clarke says. Raven looks shocked. Octavia doesn't. "Do you know where he went? I just want to make sure he's okay."

"He grabbed his keys and said he needed a drink. So he probably went to a bar," Raven deduces.

"Do you think you could check on him for me? I doubt he'll want to see me."

Raven nods, standing up. "Are _you_ okay?"

"Yeah," Clarke says. "I'm fine." It's the truth.

Raven gets her keys and takes Shaw with her to search for Wells.

"What happened?" Octavia asks as Clarke sinks onto a chair. Clarke glances at Niylah.

Niylah raises an eyebrow. "Octavia already told me all your secrets," she shrugs. Clarke rolls her eyes.

"He was about to propose," Clarke says. "But I stopped him."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah."

"And then I told him I didn't want to marry him ever. But he didn't believe me. So I told him I cheated on him. He didn't take it well," Clarke laughs humourlessly.

"How do you feel?"

"Is it bad that I'm just… relieved?"

"Maybe a little."

Clarke sighs, then lifts her head, looking around for some sign of Bellamy. "Where's Bellamy?" she asks. Octavia and Niylah glance at each other.

"He and Echo left," Octavia says. "Right after dinner. He didn't even say goodbye. Just chucked all their stuff in his car and took off."

"He _left_?" Clarke repeats, despair welling up inside her. "But I have to tell him."

"Tell him what?" Octavia asks. Clarke is already standing up.

"That I love him. Obviously. Where are my keys? Maybe I can still catch him."

"Wells took your car, remember?"

"Damn it!" Clarke groans. "Can I take yours?"

"We came with Raven. Look, Clarke, you can just tell him when you get home. Nothing will have changed."

Clarke nods, knowing Octavia is right, but at the same time desperate to go after him, to tell him everything. That it's over with Wells. That she loves him and she wants to be with him. She presses her fingers to her eyes, and they come away wet. _Now_ she's crying.

She hears the sound of a car pulling up the driveway, and the three girls stop to listen, trying to work out who it is. Wells, back from the bar? Raven, having given up trying to find him? Or, Clarke barely dares to hope, Bellamy, with a change of heart?

Clarke races to the window, Octavia and Niylah just behind her. The headlights of the car shut off. Bellamy's car. Clarke's heart skitters.

"Bellamy," she breathes, and then she's racing to the front door, stepping outside onto the front porch just as Bellamy slams his car door closed. He looks up at her standing in the porchlight and their eyes meet. Clarke glances at the passenger side. No Echo.

Clarke's heart pounds as she continues towards him, willing herself not to chicken out. He walks towards her too, five metres away, four, three, two, one. And then they're only an inch apart and he's reaching for her face, kissing her so good she forgets where she is and why she's there. She lets out a whimper as he breaks the kiss, but he remains close enough for her to feel him breathing.

"Don't marry him," he whispers. "Please don't marry him. I don't think I could bear it."

Clarke shakes her head. "I'm not. We broke up."

Bellamy smiles, relieved, joyous, and Clarke finally realises what she probably should have known all along. He loves her.

"Clarke, I—"

"Me first," she interrupts. Bellamy raises an eyebrow, but he lets her continue. "I love you," she says. "I wish I'd said it sooner. I love you, I love you."

Bellamy can't keep the smile from his face. "And I love you," he murmurs, leaning in to kiss her again. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Clarke registers than Octavia and Niylah have probably been spying on this whole exchange, but Clarke can't bring herself to care.

Nothing else exists except Bellamy and this moment. His soft kisses turn hungrier, more desperate, and Clarke wants nothing more than for him to strip her bare and devour her right here. They can probably make inside to a bed though. She begins to tug him towards the house, not wanting to separate from him for a moment.

The sound of another car careening up the driveway causes them to stop and break apart. Clarke's car screeches to a halt behind Bellamy's, and Clarke's stomach drops. Wells leaps out of the car, slamming the door closed and marching over to them.

"Wells!" Clarke says. He has a murderous look in his eyes. He ignores her, instead turning on Bellamy. Without a word, Wells pulls his fist back, and swings at Bellamy's face, connecting hard and sending Bellamy reeling backwards. Bellamy groans and Clarke screams.

"That's for fucking my girlfriend!" Wells shouts. He turns to Clarke. "I'm right, aren't I?" Clarke can't bring herself to answer, but that's answer enough for Wells.

"What the hell!" Octavia yells. Clarke turns to see Octavia and Niylah on the front porch. Bellamy puts his hand to his face where Wells had punched him.

"I probably deserved that," he mutters. A third car, Raven's, pulls up behind Wells. Raven and Shaw get out and race over.

"Did you all know?" Wells shouts. "Did you know this asshole has been fucking my girlfriend behind my back?"

" _What_?" Raven snaps, turning to Clarke.

"Well maybe, if you fucked her properly to begin with, she wouldn't have needed me to fuck her," Bellamy spits. Wells lunges for him again, but Shaw grabs him before he can get another punch in.

"What the hell, Clarke?" Raven says, her tone accusatory. "After everything I told you about Finn cheating on me?"

"I'm sorry," Clarke says. She knows it's not enough. The look of betrayal on Raven's face is worse than any look Wells could give her, anything he could say to her. She can live with Wells not forgiving her. She knows she deserves that. She doesn't know if she can live with Raven not forgiving her.

"Maybe we should all just calm down," Niylah says.

"Who invited this chick?" Wells huffs. "My girlfriend has been cheating on me for god knows how long and you want me to calm down?"

"She's right," Shaw says, still holding onto Wells. "What's the use in beating him up? It won't make you feel better."

"Maybe not, but it will make him feel worse."

"Wells, please don't hurt him," Clarke says.

"Why should I listen to anything you say? You're a liar and a cheater."

"I know," Clarke whispers. "But I promise I never meant to hurt you. I don't want anyone to get hurt."

Wells looks like he might cry again. "It's a little late for that," he says quietly.

"I know that too."

Wells sighs, giving Shaw a look of annoyance as he pulls away from him. "Do you love him?"

"Yes."

"Fucking hell."

"Maybe I should leave," Bellamy suggests.

Wells gives Bellamy a look of contempt. "Yeah, that would probably be best. I don't know how much longer I can keep myself from punching you again."

Everyone else stays silent as Bellamy heads towards his car. He gives Clarke a longing look, like he'd like to kiss her goodbye, but he knows that isn't a good idea. He opens the car door.

"Wait!" Clarke calls after him. He stops, tilting his head. "I'm coming with you."

Wells snorts. "Of course you are."

Clarke glares at him. "Why would I stay here with a house full of people who hate me?" Wells shrugs. "You can drive my car home. I'll pick it up when you get back." She turns to Bellamy again. "Just wait a minute?" He nods.

Clarke hurries inside and gathers her things, throwing everything she can find haphazardly into her suitcase. Octavia can bring her anything she might have forgotten. She drags her suitcase downstairs and outside, where everyone is still standing around, not knowing what to do with themselves.

Clarke gives Octavia a quick hug. "Thank you," she whispers. Bellamy helps her put her suitcase in the trunk of his car, and then she's sliding into the passenger seat, her heart pounding. She wonders if maybe she's being crazy. But then she looks over at Bellamy, and her heart swells, and he looks so fucking happy, that even if she _is_ being crazy, she knows she's still doing the right thing.

Bellamy starts the car and manages to manoeuvre it around the two other cars parked behind him, and then they're on their way. Bellamy slides his hand into Clarke's and squeezes, reminding her that her happiness is real.

"What happened to Echo?" Clarke asks. She doesn't really want to think about Echo, but it is one mystery she needs solved.

"I dropped her off at the train station," Bellamy says. "She was taking the break up quite well until I told her I cheated on her. With you."

"Sorry."

Bellamy gives her a funny look. "Don't be sorry. I wanted to be with you, not her."

"Did you know?"

"Did I know what?"

"Did you know I was in love with you? Is that why you came back?"

A grin spreads across Bellamy's face at the words _I was in love with you_. "I don't think I'll ever get sick of hearing you say that," he says. He glances at her. "And no. I didn't know. But I hoped. And when I saw that ring and I knew he was going to propose to you… I felt sick. I knew I had to _try_ to stop you. But I couldn't do it while I was still with Echo."

"I understand."

"That's why I packed all my things too. I was pretty sure that either way, I wasn't going to be welcome back at the house after I told you I loved you," Bellamy says. Clarke's own face breaks into a smile at those words. Yeah, she's pretty sure she could get used to a lifetime of Bellamy telling her he loves her. He squeezes her hand again. "I also, uh… checked into a hotel."

"Is that where we're going?"

"Do you want to?"

"Either that or you're going to have to pull over and fuck me, because I can't wait until we get all the way home."

"Jesus, Clarke."

He takes her to the hotel. They leave their suitcases in the car and head straight up to the room, hanging off each other, somehow managing to restrain themselves from doing anything but kiss until the door is closed behind them. Except as soon as the door is closed, Bellamy pulls away from her, leaving her breathless and wanting.

"Bell—" she whines.

"Clarke," he says, the deep timbre of his voice thrilling her. He brushes her hair from her face. Clarke shivers. "I love you," he tells her. "I've loved you for so long."

"I know."

He kisses her forehead, and then each of her eyelids, and her cheeks, and then her lips again.

"Fuck me," Clarke tells him. "Make me scream so loud we make everyone else in this hotel jealous."

He kisses her hard, and she moans into his mouth. Then he picks her up and throws her over his shoulder, and she squeals in delight as he carries her to the bed, one arm around her waist and one resting on her ass. He drops her onto the bed, and Clarke wriggles out of her t-shirt. Bellamy sheds his own shirt, and then he crawls on top of her, maintaining eye contact until he kisses her. He pulls away, looking unsure all of a sudden.

"What is it?" Clarke asks.

"I don't want you to be disappointed."

"When have you ever disappointed me?" Clarke laughs. Bellamy remains serious.

"It might not be as good. As exciting. Without the… illicit factor."

"Bellamy," Clarke says. "Maybe at the start, that was part of the reason it was so good. But _now_ it's good because you know me so well. Because you know exactly what I like. Because I love you." Bellamy smiles, and Clarke thinks he might even be blushing. "You're fucking adorable," she says, kissing him.

"Is that right?" Bellamy asks, challenging. "Let's see how adorable I am with my head between your legs."

He slides down between her thighs, tugging her shorts and panties down with him, until she's left wearing only her bra. He runs his tongue along her slit, teasing her, circling her clit but never actually touching it. He winds her up, gets her breathing heavy. She curls her fingers into his hair, trying to get him where she wants him. He flicks her clit with his tongue, once, then twice, and she moans. He pulls away.

"Still adorable?" he asks.

"Evil, but still cute."

Bellamy pushes a finger into her, and then another. She lets out a very unladylike sound. He keeps his fingers inside her and presses his lips to her slit, using his tongue to tease her clit. He starts moving his fingers and Clarke whines.

"Yes," she moans. "Keep doing that. Oh my god." She cries out as he brings her over the edge, though it's probably not loud enough for anyone else in the hotel to hear. Then he's lifting his head, pulling his fingers from her pussy and trailing his hands up her sides to her breasts.

"Time to take this off," he says, slipping a finger under the strap of her bra. "It's been too long since I've seen your pretty tits."

"You saw them this morning," Clarke reminds him, even as she sits up to undo the clasp.

"Still too long," Bellamy smirks. Clarke pulls off her bra and tosses it aside. She loves the way Bellamy gazes at her tits in awe. He rubs his thumbs over her pointed nipples.

"Bell, not to rush you, but you can play with my tits any time you want. Right now, I need you to fuck me."

"So impatient."

"Please, it's been too long since I had your cock in me."

"I fucked you this morning."

"Still too long."

Bellamy smirks. "Okay," he says. He pushes her back down on the bed. He gets up to remove his own shorts and underwear. Clarke spreads her legs for him and then he presses his cock against her entrance. He pauses for a moment and then he pushes into her, and she groans, throwing her head back as his cock fills her completely. She fingers her nipples, more for his benefit than her own, twisting them between her fingertips.

"You look so sexy like this," Bellamy tells her. "With my cock inside you, while you play with your nipples."

"Your cock feels so good," Clarke moans.

"I know, baby. I know how much you love having my cock in you. You want me to fuck you?"

"Yes! Fuck me, please."

Bellamy obliges, gripping her thighs tightly as he thrusts against her, not bothering to take it slow. Clarke can feel his cock hitting her g-spot over and over. He fucks her hard, and her tits bounce obscenely with every thrust. She fists her hands into the sheets beneath her, her eyes rolling back into her head as she whimpers and moans.

"Bell," she whines. Her moans turn to silent gasps as she reaches her peak.

"Come on, baby," Bellamy urges her. "Come for me. Come on my cock. I love you so much."

Clarke comes, shuddering as she cries out his name, her walls clenching around his cock, dragging him over the edge with her. His come fills her, and then she's coming again, silently this time.

Bellamy pulls out of her, covering the sheets with their combined come as he does so. He drops to the bed beside her, panting. "I don't think you were loud enough for the rest of the hotel to be jealous," he muses.

"We'll have to try again," Clarke says, rolling onto her stomach, pressing her palm against his hard chest.

"In a minute," Bellamy chuckles. Clarke traces circles on his chest with her finger. "Clarke. I forgot to ask. Am I allowed to call you baby again?"

"Yes," Clarke says. "I just couldn't bear to hear it when I thought you'd probably be saying it to Echo later."

"She wasn't really the baby type. Not that I tried. I was only with her to try and forget about you."

"I'm glad it didn't work."

"Me too," Bellamy agrees, wrapping an arm around her. Content as she is in his arms, Clarke can't help but think about what's going to happen tomorrow. What's going to happen with Wells or with Raven. She knows she still has Octavia, but she hopes Raven might come around one day.

"I just realised I have nowhere to live," Clarke sighs. Back to a hotel for a while until she finds her own place.

"Don't be silly," Bellamy says. "You can stay with me until you find somewhere else. I mean… unless you don't want to find somewhere else."

Clarke stares at him. "Are you asking me to move in with you?"

Bellamy shrugs. "Yeah. If you want to. No pressure."

"It's not too soon?"

"Not for me."

Clarke beams. "Okay. Okay I'll move in. On one condition."

"What's that?"

"You have to fuck me at least twice a day."

Bellamy chuckles, and Clarke feels the reverberation deep in her chest. "I think I can manage that."


End file.
